Never Let Go
by schaefy
Summary: Someone is attacking young girls all over Trenton, and Stephanie and Carlos are hunting him down. But when their goal puts Stephanie in the terrible danger, how far with Carlos go to get her back? Or will he just let go? AU. Please read and review.
1. Angel of Mercy

We think we've seen it all.

From the age of fifteen, we think we've seen all there is to the world. As we strut the city we've lived in since birth, we hold our heads high and think we know everything there is to know about existence.

And then, something like this happens.

I stared sadly at the woman in front of me, as she wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them tightly to her chest. Her tear tracks were streaked with smudged mascara, her eyes as lifeless as if there were no soul behind them. She was sitting quietly on a bed, rocking slightly, her large brown eyes wide with internal shock and emotional damage. I repressed a sigh and nodded to the dark clad figure in the corner. He pushed off his position on the doorframe and stepped out of the room, conferring briefly with the police officer standing outside.

I sat down next to the woman on the bed, ignoring the rumpled sheets behind us, smeared liberally with blood and body fluids. They were torn in places, smeared with the marks from a bloody knife now in an evidence bag down in the police cruiser.

She was only wearing a large white men's dress shirt, the blood having also soaked through the shirt in places from the inevitable cuts and bruises I knew would lie underneath it. Large, sausage-like bruises covering the parts of her arms and legs I could see, forced into the shape of large hands imprinted all over her body. Her hair was matted and lank, blood and fluid drying in cakes throughout it, melding clumps of hair together.

As I moved to sit beside her she made no move to acknowledge my presence at all. Nor had she when we had entered the room. It was always the same.

It was always like this.

0 0 0

I sighed as we closed the door to the woman's sobs, as she cried and cried into the bedclothes. Literally the only witness to her destruction. I could feel the pain welling up inside me, the outrage and horror that anyone could commit these terrible crimes, that anyone could think to destroy a woman so completely.

And not just this woman.

Many.

The tall, muscular figure beside me sighed quietly, running a hand through his long black hair as we walked quickly through the decrepit building, and out to the waiting car. I had been working with him for a couple of years now, but had known him for many more. We had met in college, taking the same criminology degree, and had immediately become close friends. Well, as close as anyone could get to Carlos. The army career after he had left college had taught him many lessons, but had most of all, closed off the blatant openness I had once loved about him. It had left him with terrible memories, of women and children being killed protecting each other, of seeing men as young as seventeen being blown apart and others being tortured and killed in the most terrible ways. And when he came back after his missions, time after time, I would be the one who would see the changes in him. Each time, he would come back quieter, more silent, more alone, more in need of a friend to talk to. The horrors that he had seen haunting his dreams for months after he returned, plaguing him with guilt and anguish at the lives he had been unable to save, or forced to take. I would be the one to sit next to his bed for the weeks after he returned, being jolted awake every few hours to Carlos thrashing and yelling in his sleep, reliving the atrocities he had been forced to witness, and commit. I would be the one to grab his flailing limbs and attempt to fight the strength driving them to madness, to quell his cries and yells, to try and stem the pain. I saw each time how it got worse and worse, how his nightmares lasted longer. And each time it was harder to wake him. Until they were so real, the memories so lifelike that I could not wake him in his darkest hours of the night. So deep was the anguish and real were the memories that he could not be roused, and would tear at his own flesh with his teeth, hit his limbs on the bed frame and yell himself hoarse as the nightmare continued. He was so mentally scarred that he cut himself off from everything he knew, and retreated inside himself to try and heal the terrible wounds inside him. Which no one but he could repair.

He had just recently come back from a short mission, only two weeks, and had been relatively ok. The nightmares had not plagued his sleep much and had only caused him to twitch at times. He had settled more quickly back into his routine, and I felt that he was handling the psychology better. Granted, he was still silent a lot of the time and he still concealed his feelings, but this was Carlos. He was doing fine.

We had lately been working on a joint case with Trenton PD, a little different to what we usually did. It was late March and the weather was cool, the new buds beginning to spring from months of frigid ice. It seemed it was not only the plant life that had defrosted in the new thaw. It seemed all the criminals who had hunkered down for winter were spreading their wings again too, one of them, a serial rapist. Over the past four months since we had been approached by Trenton PD we had been working several cases for them, because they were severely under resourced, and Rangeman, Carlos' company, employed a small army of ex-military men with enough expertise to invade and take control of a small country.

I rubbed my tired eyes and sighed as Carlos pulled the Porsche out of the dingy street and moved into the traffic. For once there was no soft classical playing in the background and the car was silent, the only other noise being his quiet breathing. I felt my mind loosen for a second as the exhaustion dealt another blow, unfocusing my brain and causing my muscles to relax. I had done a third all-nighter this week tracking down new leads in the case, and all had ended up leading nowhere. Then at five am we had received the intel about the next victim. Victoria Simmons, the woman we had just visited. She was slipped a date rape drug at a popular Trenton club and woke up with vague recollections of her repeated rape that night. She was 23 years old. The familiar sadness hit me all over again, as the disgust and horror joined it.

I didn't realise I was bent over holding my face in my hands and breathing jaggedly until a soft hand touched my shoulder, rubbing smooth circles calmingly onto my tense muscles until the knots in them began to loosen. I took a deep breath as I began fighting back tears. I could do this, I _would_ do this. I needed to do this—I needed to catch the sick son of a bitch that was doing this. For the victims. For the nine women who had now been touched by this bastard, and had their lives ruined by it.

0 0 0

I found myself in Carlos' arms, my face buried in his neck and his arms tight around me as I sobbed. I tensed for a second. I couldn't remember how I had gotten there. I pulled away slightly, my breath still shaky and shuddering. We were still in the car, pulled over on the side of a busy three lane road. So how had I gotten into Carlos' arms without even realising it. How had I started crying? The last thing I remembered was thinking about the nine victims…

"Querida, you started sobbing." Carlos said in a soft voice, one hand gently stroking my hair lovingly, the other supporting my back as I collapsed on his shoulder. The tenderness in his voice made my heart twist. This was Ricardo Carlos Manoso, trained mercenary and Special Ops holding his friend to his chest and comforting her as she cried.

I sucked in a few deep, shuddering breaths as the images of the various victims flooded my brain. A young girl of fifteen, still wearing what was left of her school uniform, lying discarded in an alleyway next to a dumpster. As if she were rubbish. A twenty two year old woman who had been to a concert with friends. She had been found propped against the drain pipe of a local convenience store. A nineteen year old girl on the way to sports practice, shoved halfway down a drain. She had died of her head wounds.

There was no pattern to the rapes; no rhyme or reason.

Just the bile that rose every time I thought of these poor women, and what that bastard had done to them.


	2. Where did you find me?

_Stephanie_

I shed my coat as I walked into Carlos' quiet apartment, throwing over the side of the couch and moving towards the kitchen. I had known him for many years now, and for most of those years, he had been my best friend. He never said much, but when he did, I was always sure to listen. He always let me explain the reasoning behind a decision or action without making snap judgements, something I had learned to value in people. His support, though quiet, was rock solid. We had worked as partners for going on four years combining his military expertise and my criminal psychology and profiling history. I trusted him implicitly and respected both his judgement, his morals and his integrity. In a world such as this, I had learned that none of these was to be undervalued.

I started toward the kitchen to warm the lunch Ella had left for us while Carlos walked to his living room, stripping off his gun belt and tossing it onto the coffee table before sitting down, face in his hands. Pausing, I watched him intently. He sat like that for a few minutes, only his gentle breathing permeating the silence. I wondered what he was thinking, how I could help. He never talked about what happened on him missions, his contract with the government, or the effect all this had on him. Sometimes he didn't have to tell me: the marks on his body betrayed his stoic silence. Gunshot wounds, bruising, newly healed scars that stretched across his dark skin, puckered and angry. We operated on a 'Don't ask, don't tell' agreement, both of us trusting his judgement. Don't get me wrong, I was always curious, but I understood both his contractual obligation and his wish to shield me.

After a moment he rubbed his tired eyes, then walked over to the massive CD collection that lined one wall, perusing the titles. I smiled and quietly moved away. He was beginning to show signs, small but significant, that he was starting to be able to deal with the psychological scars, not only the physical. He had come back from his mission a little thinner, with a few more lines around his eyes, a few more scars.

But Carlos.

Still Carlos.

Warming the chicken and rice dish in the microwave for three minutes, I served it onto plates and we were soon sitting down to eat at the small table Ella, the Rangeman housekeeper, had set for us.

"You spoke to Detective Masters?" I watched his soft eyes flick to me as I spoke.

"While you were talking to Simmons. He had Forensics in the van outside waiting for you to finish. They took samples from under her fingernails in case she managed to scratch him. They've also got the sheets, the knife and the shirt she was wearing. They don't expect to find anything else in the house, but they're looking anyway." I nodded, chewing as I thought.

Despite the amount of evidence on the surfaces, I knew we wouldn't find anything. We never did. The guy was meticulous. He must have covered every inch of skin and worn a hat to get that sort of result. Or perhaps he had simply dumped her there, faking the stab marks on the sheets and simply letting her bleed on them. Something to think about.

"Masters is coming over this afternoon for a meeting with the team. He's acting as liaison officer for TPD, and he'll deal directly with you. That ok?"

Part of my job description was to facilitate working relationships with others; be it Trenton Police Department, outside contractors or the Government. I was the one the phone calls went to, who organised the boundaries and kept both sides in line. Although I'd never imagined myself being able to do this, I found it a necessary job within Rangeman, especially since TPD was relying on us so much now. The recession had hit them very hard like everyone else, and they simply didn't have enough resources to devote to a case like this. We just wanted the sick son of a bitch off the streets.

"Sure. You've told the team?"

He nodded, leaning back in his chair and surveying me for a moment. A rare smile graced his lips as he stood, pulling me out of my chair and into his arms. I hugged him to me as his arms slid around my waist, my head tucked into his neck.

"What's this for?" I asked, "Not that I'm not enjoying it." He chuckled, simply squeezing me tighter, and I felt my heart lift. It was the first time in the six days since he had returned that I had heard him laugh, and I sighed contentedly as a little relief washed through me.

"Just to show you I appreciate everything you do for the company." He paused, studying my eyes for a moment as he pulled back a little, "And especially for me."

I smiled wholeheartedly now, forgetting the pain I was surrounding me for a moment.

I felt his lips brush my forehead in the lightest of kisses.

That was when it started.

Rangeman's conference room was full of black clad, muscular men as the air reverberated with deep male voices as I sat down next to the empty seat at the head of the table. I smiled and nodded hello to Tank, Bobby and Lester who were seated opposite me, each poring over a thick file. Together with Ranger, they made up the core team at Rangeman who handled both the corporate and the security end of the business.

Tank, Ranger's right hand man was Ranger's oldest friend of the group, having met on the first day of Basic Training and stuck with him since then. He was, practically speaking, built like a Tank. He spoke little, in the same way as Ranger, but had a heart of gold. Tank was like a big brother to me ever since I'd saved his life in the field. From that point he opened up to me, joking and laughing with Bobby, Lester and I in the Comm room and we had grown to be good friends. He grinned at me as he caught my eye, winking as I giggled. Lester, next to him, elbowed him in the side and whispered something in Tank's ear before grinning cheekily at me, the comment earning himself a slap upside the head. He was, to put it mildly, the joker of the group. An impeccable marksman and hand to hand fighting specialist, Lester was the one most able to relax when he was not working. His jokes and sexual innuendos kept the office relaxed and light hearted when everyone had had a hard day, and he could keep everyone in stitches without even trying. Yet despite this he had a great work ethic, able to focus at a moment's notice with no problems and thus became a valuable member of the team.

Bobby glanced at the other two, smiling slightly and rolling his eyes. He rounded out the team as the medic, calm in the face of crisis. I had seen him in the field many times and knew his expertise was second to none, one minute dodging bullets and firing with lethal precision, the next, treating a victim who was about to bleed out. They had been together a very long time through I couldn't guess how many hairy situations, each understanding that it was only the bonds of trust between them that had brought them thus far. Each trusted the others with his life, implicitly and unconditionally. I smiled, watching them quietly as the noise began to fall, and Carlos and a policemen walked into the room.

"This," Carlos announced to the room, "Is Detective Masters, liaison officer on the Rowan file." Thus named after the first girl discovered.

"Gentlemen," he said, meeting the eyes of each man around the table. "Let's begin."


	3. Where did you read my story?

Author's Note: Hi Everyone! Thank you for the great response to the story, and I hope you continue to enjoy it. It's really nice to be writing something fresh and different. Please feel free to send me any ideas/comments/criticisms you have, I'd be really happy to hear from you.

And please review. I'm somewhat of a Review addict...

Thanks :)

Schaefy

_March 28, Rangeman Conference Room._

"We opened the Rowan file on the third of December last year, almost four months to the day, with the discovery of Carlie Rowan's body lying next to a fence on 38th street. She had been beaten, raped at knife point and then left to die on the pavement." I watched Detective Masters as he spoke detachedly, finding him rising quickly in my estimation. It was only the slight tightening of the lines around his dark eyes that betrayed his disgust at what he was describing. He was genuinely moved by what had happened to these girls, not jaded by the scum that surrounded him daily.

"As you all know, there have been eight more violent rapes in the greater Trenton area since then, the latest of them occurring late last night." He brought up a slide on the screen behind him, depicting the scene of Carlie Rowan's discovery.

"It's not certain that all of these were committed by the one person, or if they are at all linked. The fact remains, however, that an individual or group has been violently raping two to three women per month, and its time it was stopped." Several of the guys nodded, faces hard as they watched the pictures of victims, crime scenes and weapons that passed on the screen.

"I'm here to get us started. You've probably all heard of or seen the situation at the PD. It's... well," He ran his fingers through his hair. "...A mess. Funding has hit rock bottom, and we hardly have enough officers to man the station, let alone set up a large scale operation like this. This is where Rangeman comes in. In collaboration with Trenton PD, you'll be investigating the case, helping in any way you can. You have far more resources available here, and more manpower. These girls, and their families, deserve a proper and timely investigation. Today you'll get your assignments. We've decided that you'll be split into teams of two, each pair taking on one month. Within that frame, you job is to research the rape, and compile a file to bring together the information we've produced during the preliminary stages. You are to try and determine whether the rape was likely to have been part of the pattern and can be linked to the others, or whether you believe and _can_ _prove_ that it is not. I want you to know everything about the case, research the family, the girls, where they were, injuries they had, what they had in their handbag. We need to know as much as we can in order to try and find links between them. It's important that we do this right." He pulled a stack of thin files onto the table, looking to Ranger to deal them out. Ranger stepped forward, speaking quietly.

"Cal and Binkie on December," They stood quickly to retrieve their files, flipping through them briefly as they sat down. "Hal and Ram on January." They followed suit.

"Hector and Zero on February, and Junior and Woody on March." Each pair moved quickly and quietly to receive their assignments, sorting themselves into partners around the table.

"Before we get started, I'd like to just briefly talk about what's been done so far. It's not much, so it won't take long. Obviously forensics are all over this, and we've requested FBI forensics and ME's (Medical Examiners) for this case which has been a great help. So far they're yet to find anything though which is strange, and could be for a number of reasons. Either the rapist is meticulous in cleaning his victim, which is unlikely, he is an expert in not leaving trace evidence, or their clothes were removed before the rape and replaced before the girl was moved. The ME's descriptions of the injuries and time and cause of death, if applicable, is included in the file. Simmons' preliminary report should be coming in within the hour. We'll meet again in three days to collaborate and present our findings. Everyone agreed?" Most nodded, their eyes meeting Masters' without emotion.

"I know it's not necessarily commonplace for these sort of partnerships, but I believe we'll work better as a team on an equal field. I'm more than happy to discuss problems or suggestions with you as the investigation progresses. I'm not here to dictate, simply to help us collaborate and I value your input." I smiled as I watched the almost imperceptible expressions of surprise flit across faces. The slight twitch of an eyebrow, or a lift of the chin as they reassessed Masters. Being judged as simply hired muscle was an occupational hazard for them, particularly by outsiders like Masters himself. Having someone who recognised and respected their expertise and experience in the field was refreshing for them.

The meeting broke up quickly after that, the pairs of men moving to their workstations to begin researching the cases assigned to them as Tank, Masters, Ranger and I lingered at the head of the conference table as Masters phone rang.

"Detective Masters. Yes... Ok. Good. We'll be over this afternoon for the report. Thanks."

He snapped his phone shut and looked to Ranger and I.

"Victoria Simmons is ready to be interviewed. She's still visibly shaken but she's talking now. The preliminary report on her injuries has just come in too; we can pick it up before we go to question her."

Her eyes were blank as she stared at the low table in front of her, her arms clutched around her stomach, shoulders hunched. I held in a sigh as she just continued to sit there, pale, biting her shaking lip as her breath shuddered. All I wanted to do was put my arms around her and hold her tight until everything was better... but I knew that wouldn't help at this point. Touching other people, even just a brush in the hallway, was terrifying, eye contact was impossible. She was petrified, terrified that something she would do or say would anger someone, would repeat the experience of the previous night. So she stayed quiet. Numb.

We were in the soft interview room of Trenton PD, the room with couches and a carpet, used to interview children, relatives or victims. Carlos was sitting in the far chair maintaining as steady a silence as Simmons, watching her movements inconspicuously as I tried to coax her to speak.

"Victoria?" I said quietly, watching her cringe away from me as I broke the silence. "Can you look at me sweetheart?" She waited a beat, taking in a deep shuddering breath. As she looked up, I fought to keep my face impassive as horror rushed through me afresh. Scratches covered her cheeks as if she had clawed at them with her own fingernails, so lost in the storm that it didn't matter any more... nothing mattered any more. I could see the cuts on her forearms, some covered by bandages, the bruises that flowered over her pale skin. By the way I had seen her move, it looked as though the injuries beneath her loose fitting shirt were more serious.

"Victoria." I said quietly, looking directly into her dull eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"

_It was 3 months, 2 days, 2 hours and 29 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_Carlos did not know it yet._


	4. Pulled from the papers

_Huge thanks to Svendances for betaing.. and putting up with me!_

_0 0 0_

_8:47pm, March 29. Carlos' Apartment._

I pulled my feet under me on the couch as Carlos sat down next to me, having flicked on the CD player to a quiet Jazz piece that filled the room with background music. It had been a long day for both of us. An early morning gym session with Carlos had had me tired out before the day even begun, and I could still feel the ache of my muscles from the weights and sparring. I smiled as I felt his light hands beginning to massage my shoulders, working out the knots and soothing the tension out of my body. I let out my breath slowly, feeling myself melt into a puddle on the floor.

"Oh..." I sighed , not even realising I was speaking. "You have _no_ idea how good that feels."

I heard his quiet chuckle behind me, and felt him press a soft kiss to the top of my head. My heart skipped a beat and I couldn't stop the smile that tipped the corners of my lips. [New Paragraph]

Catching his hand as it lay feather light across my shoulder, I paused a moment, admiring his mocha latte skin. I traced a thin scar that curved from his first knuckle, down past his thumb with a fingertip, sadness clouding my heart as I looked at the pink, puckered skin. The damage these missions left on his body was clear every time he came back. They marked his body, a testament to his personal suffering. Hesitating briefly as I let out a breath that grazed his skin, I gently pressed my lips to the scar. [New Paragraph]

I turned to face him, meeting his dark eyes. They were guarded; anxious in a way that only I could see. In the last few days, things had started to change between us. We weren't quite 'just friends' anymore... but we weren't anything else either. It was the tendril of affection growing somewhere deep inside me, making my heart beat faster when he smiled, or sending a shiver through me when we touched. Our touches were more lingering, full of an electricity I had never found with anyone else. I would now find him kissing my cheek or hair, pulling me into hugs that lasted just a little longer than platonic friendship allowed.

I wanted desperately to explore this new facet of our relationship that was built on an unbreakable, unconditional trust. But I was so afraid that if something went wrong, if what we had was not enough, that we would lose each other altogether. My heart twisted at the prospect, a ghost of the pain and anguish it would cause.

His finger came up to softly stroke my cheek, leaving a blazing trail where our skin had touched. It felt like all the oxygen had disappeared, my breath held. The sadness in the depths of his eyes held me paralysed. Some strange intensity filled me, burst along the connection between us as I stared at him.

I drew a jagged breath, breaking the stillness and Carlos stood quickly, moving a few steps away from me. I watched as he ran his hand through his hair, his face creased with worry.

My hand felt empty as his was ripped from mine, and I turned back to the couch, pulling my knees to my chest as I tried to stop my eyes from filling with tears. It was silly, I thought to myself, trying to tamp down the heat threatening to build at the corners of my eyes. Carlos could not possibly want me.

I felt a soft hand stroke my curls once, before a finger under my chin brought my eyes around to meet his.

"Lo siento, babe." _I'm sorry._

I smiled at him weakly trying to shake off my sudden misery.

He sighed as he moved over to the other couch and sank down. Instead of sitting next to me. I stopped that thought before it could go any further, drawing in a deep breath as he toed off his boots.

"How was your day?" I watched his lips quirk into a slight smile, his chocolate brown eyes warm once again.

"Not one of my favourite days. The Rowan case has meant I've been neglecting paperwork, from the other offices as well. That took most of the morning. I had a few client meetings too which, as you know, are always interesting."

I smiled genuinely this time, teasingly. Carlos hated client meetings and mostly pawned them off to the Sales department. Unfortunately for him, some of the bigger clients demanded the CEO's personal attention. The women salivated over him while their husbands either got jealous over their behaviour, or tried to show off by pretending to be as tough as Ranger. He spent the meetings deflecting suggestive comments, sexual innuendos and embellished "war stories" and trying to talk about Rangeman's security services. I often sat in with him on these meetings, and more often than not I had a hard time trying not to laugh at the clients antics.

He rolled his eyes as he saw the mischievous glint in mine, his face breaking into my favourite 200 watt grin.

"Babe." Exasperated. I giggled at the expression on his face. He just shook his head, still smiling.

"I got a call from Roy Baker as well. He's handing in his notice."

I quirked an eyebrow, questioning. "What? Why?"

Roy had been the head of the Boston office for six years now, and I'd met him a few times on business trips I had taken there with Carlos. He was a burly man, like all Rangemen, but was softly spoken with a nice smile and a thick Boston accent from his childhood.

"His wife is pregnant with twins, and he'd like to be bit more flexible with his hours. He'll still work there as part of the core team, just not as the Head. Unfortunately this means we have to either bring in a new Head or promote someone. The Boston office is expanding quickly and there will be a lot of applicants." He sighed a little, relaxing his head against the back of the couch.

"Roy is going to interview the majority of the candidates and send me a shortlist. I'll have to fly down there in a few months to make the decision."

I watched as his tired eyes opened a little, finding mine seemingly without direction.

"Sometimes I hate all the business shit. I was sitting in my office all day today, and all I could think about was being on the street finding the asshole who's mutilating these girls..." His voice trailed off, as he stared out the window to the Trenton skyline, blinking lights from the buildings and cars snaking home after a day at work.

"I was on the Comm Room today with the guys. Not on the streets. You know even more than I do that intel is vital to completing any mission. The more we know about the attacks, the more we can deduce about who's behind it, the better the chance we have of finding and stopping him. The research is coming together, Carlos. We'll be ready to present tomorrow. Then we can hit the streets, talk to some people."

I found myself in his arms, his hands at the small of my back as he pulled me close. I breathed in his scent feeling myself melt against him.

"Thank you Babe. You're perfect."

I fell for him just a little more in that moment.

0 0 0

Stephanie had fallen asleep on my shoulder as we sat together on the couch, watching a movie, her soft breath tickling my neck . I gathered her in my arms, trying not to let my eyes linger on the band of milky white skin between her tank top and shorts. Or her face. The bright, fiery blue eyes that were currently closed in sleep, the curl that fell onto her face as she leaned into my shoulder.

Moving quietly to my room, I laid her gently onto one side of the bed, trying to pull my arms away without jostling her. She moaned sleepily as I pulled away, her perfect face crinkling as she caught one of my hands in hers. I pressed a soft kiss on her temple and whispered "Just a minute Babe". Shucking my cargoes and shirt on the floor, I climbed in next to her and lay on my back. My breath hitched as she turned to face me, still half asleep, and pulled herself close to me, resting her head on my chest. I looked down at the beautiful woman curled into my side and absently stroked the wild curls of her hair as she slept.

Was this a huge mistake? I had noticed things were different. The way I noticed her more, the way her clothes hugged her figure, or her smile brightened my day. Or the way she seemed to know me inside out, and knew exactly what to say to pull me from my brooding.

Gathering the hand that lay on my chest into mine, I tucked my head next to hers, sighing contentedly.

I really didn't want to screw this up.

0 0 0

_We can never go home  
We no longer have one  
I'll help you carry the load  
I'll carry you in my arms  
The kiss of the snow  
The crescent moon above us  
Our blood is cold  
And we're alone  
But I'm alone with you_

_I woke, keeping completely still as my training kicked in and I assessed my situation_. _Keeping__ my breathing regular, checking for signs of danger. I was lying on the ground somewhere in the camp, dressed in dark fatigues, ripped and stained with blood. I could feel the pain of fatigue in my muscles as I sat up, looking around me.[ Sleeping men were all around me, leaning on packs and boxes as they rested. Quietly, I got up, walking away into the trees that surrounded us. I could feel them behind me, my men, and we were suddenly stalking through the jungle with our guns raised and trained to the path ahead. _

_The scene changed again. _

_The smell of acrid smoke filled my lungs, making me cough, retching in the gutter next to me. Blood stained the dirt road._

_Bodies were lying everywhere. Men, staring blankly in surprise as a bullet wound blossomed from their chest. Children that had been wrapped in blankets by their grieving mothers, the life in their small bodies extinguished by starvation and disease. Women lying bleeding in the gutters, their clothes slashed and torn by knives. _

_A burst of gunfire sounded a few streets away. _

_Shouting filled the air, desperate and petrified. I walked towards it, to see what was happening. The dust of the dry earth filled the back of my throat as I blinked the grit out of my eyes. _

_There was a crowd of people. I walked towards them, a sense of dread moving sluggishly through my brain. I knew what I was going to see. I tried to run towards them, tried to talk, but I felt as though I was paralysed on the spot. _

_The crowd parted. I saw. My heart stopped, adrenaline shooting fire through my veins, muscles quivering._

_I felt my voice disappear, my mouth opening in a silent scream._

_Help me to carry the fire  
We will keep it alight together  
Help me to carry the fire  
It will light our way forever_

0 0 0

Something was wrong. I felt it in my heart.

In the heaviness, the feeling of trepidation of what I would have to face when I awoke. My mind pulled me up through the layers of sleep, and I found myself lying on the edge of Carlos' bed, my eyes heavy with sleep as I forced them open. I looked at the clock on the table next to me, glowing a little in the darkness. 2:43am. I groaned a little, rolling over onto my other side to try and get back to sleep.

I felt Carlos move in his sleep, his breath coming fast and shallow, as if he were running, moving again. I cracked my eyes to look at him, then opened them fully and sat up, my heart constricting. His face was troubled, covered with a light sheen of sweat as his head moved from side to side, his lips mumbling as he breathed. I could see the muscles in his torso flexing, a cold sweat covering his skin as he moved restlessly.

My heart went cold as I watched him form indistinct words, his fists clenching and unclenching the blanket. Nightmares.

_If I say shut your eyes  
If I say look away  
Bury your face in my shoulder  
Think of a birthday  
The things you put in your head  
They will stay here forever  
Our blood is cold  
And we're alone, love  
But I'm alone with you_

Putting my cool hands on his cheeks I spoke to him, trying to wake him, to stop the pain.

"Carlos?" I called softly. "Carlos?"

Nothing. Quickly getting off the bed, I got a wet washcloth from the bathroom, and began to gently wipe down his forehead.

His words grew louder as he began to move his legs, his hands coming to clutch his face as he murmured. Pain marred his beautiful face, creasing his forehead and tensing his jaw. I took his shoulders as he began to groan, his hands gripping his hair as he curled himself closer.

"No... no... not again... please..."

His voice rose as I tried to shake him awake, sweat beading his forehead. I felt my own tears start to slide down my face, sobs ripping my chest as I tried to hold him still.

"Carlos? Carlos! Wake up! Carlos!"

His back arched as he let out a yell that pierced my heart right to the core, and his eyes snapped open, grabbing my wrists hard as my hands touched his shoulders.

_Help me to carry the fire  
We will keep it alight together  
Help me to carry the fire  
It will light our way forever_

I stared into his eyes, wide and fearful, as his jagged breathing penetrated silence.

"Carlos," I said, tears dripping onto his chest as I stared at him. The agony that filled his eyes burned right through me, and at that moment, all I wished was that I could make it go away.

"Babe..." he choked out, looking down at his hands still clenched on my wrists. He loosened his fingers immediately, bringing up a gentle finger to brush away the tears that streaked my cheeks.

"Sorry," he said, trying to smile past the residual anxiety. "Just a nightmare." He sat up, bringing me with him and holding me close. My heart still pounded in my chest as he pulled me close.

"It's okay Babe. It was just a nightmare."

_If I say shut your eyes  
__If I say shut your eyes  
Bury me in surprise  
When I say shut your eyes._

_It was 3 months, 1 day, 13 hours and 25 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And Carlos was troubled._

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Hi everyone,

Sorry for the wait on the update. My finals begin in 2 weeks and study has left me a little lacking in both motivation and muse... Anyway. The song I used is called 'No Sound but the Wind' by the Editors.

I'll try and update soon. Promise!

Schaefy


	5. Desperate and Hardened

_Sorry this chapter took me forever—life has been extraordinarily busy. I finished my School finals (really big deal), went away for celebration for a week etcetc... It's been pretty crazy! So, sorry. Please review, and I will try and post again soon!_

_Thanks_

_Schaefy_

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_March 30, Stephanie's House_.

I listened to the sea break along the shore, quietly washing against the sand that flickered golden in the evening sun. The first real sunshine of Spring kissed my tanned skin, casting shadows on the porch as I gently rocked myself on the bench swing, allowing myself to relax at the end of a hard day. This was often my favourite part of the day. It was quiet, and I was alone for a while, letting myself process and deal with what had happened.

I leant my head back against the smooth driftwood that formed the bench, my eyelids drifting shut as sharp images flashed through my mind.

_I was in the elevator at Rangeman, impatiently pressing the button for the underground floors. The men were assembled upstairs in a conference room on the fourth floor, preparing for the big review of the case. This was one of the most critical parts of an investigation like this; it was in these meetings that we formed ideas and theories, drew parallels and found new angles and leads for examination. I had watched over the men as they worked their assigned cases, accompanied some on witness interviews and fact finding missions._

_The doors opened and I stepped into the dark corridor of Rangeman's only underground floor. Not meant to be seen by outsiders, its walls and floor were concrete, painted black with caged halogen lights casting a harsh glare. There were a few metal fire doors to my right, sealed with a thick deadbolt identical to those used in prisons—interview rooms for drug dealers, pimps, pushers and other assorted lowlifes. Another reinforced steel door with assorted locks and scanner lead to the armoury. And then there was the closest door, which I faced. _

_I could hear the rapid succession of firearm shots from behind it as Carlos shot the shit out of the paper man at the end of the alley of the gun range. I gently pushed the door open, walking into the room behind the sheet of plexiglass that protected onlookers. Carlos was standing at the farthest alley over, safety glasses and a pair of protective earmuffs concealing his features as he raised his arms to take his stance again after reloading. Smiling slightly, I watched as he focused unerringly on his target with the same single minded determination that had been a part of him long before he had become a Ranger._

_Pushing away from the glass I walked towards him, ready to tell him that the meeting was about to start and that we needed to be upstairs. Just as I began to stretch my hand out to touch his arm, there was a brief second – well, less than a second; a millisecond – where I watch his body stiffen as his peripheral vision registered movement. _

_Another fraction of a second. _

_A breath._

_He had grabbed my wrist, twisting it under, forcing me to turn around as he pushed it up until my shoulder threatened to dislocate.] I was on my knees, crying out. The cold muzzle of his gun was pressed against the back of my skull. My heart pounded as I choked for breath, trying to fight the iron strength of his hands, the flash of his eyes I had caught as I went down burned into my memory._

_Cold, hard._

_Nothing of Carlos, of the man I loved. Only Ranger, the Soldier, the mercenary. _

_The killer._

_And then as suddenly as I felt his hands pinning me there, he was gone. His gun slammed down on the bench as he cringed away from me as far as the small room would allow._

"_Stephanie." His voice was distant and icy, but I could see a shadow of something in his eyes. The ghost of pain to great for him to confront; relegated to somewhere deep inside him; only to surface when he lost control . Stretching my arm out and collapsing to sit against the wall, I watched as he crouched to my level across the room. His hands ran through his hair, an anguish that wasn't physical contorting his face._

_At that moment, all I could think of was touching him, touching his face so I could smooth away those worries and take away the pain. He opened his hands in front of him, staring at them in shock and disgust._

"_Carlos? It.. It's ok. I understand. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have surprised you like that." My voice shook, pain still burning my shoulder._

_His eyes flashed up to meet mine, an unexpected anger dilating them black._

"_You're sorry? __You're__ sorry? Stephanie, I almost killed you a minute ago! I had my finger on the fucking trigger!" He buried his face in his hands, breathing deeply as he tried to contain his fury. _

_My heart ached as I sat there, beating furiously as if it knew how close it had been to death._

_ I longed for nothing more than to hold him. But I knew that my touch would probably only make things worse._

_He stood quickly, his voice tightly controlled as he walked to the door. _"_Do you want Bobby to look at your shoulder?"_

_I shook my head, unable to speak._

_An imperceptible nod was all the reply I got._

"_I'll see you upstairs." And he was gone; the door snapping shut behind him, leaving me slumped against the wall, a tear trickling down my cheek. Why did I feel like this was my fault?_

I could feel the dull ache of my shoulder throbbing as I sat, rocking gently. Bobby had caught me rubbing it later that day and insisted on checking it. My face had tightened as he moved the joint, checking the range of motion, but I was a little relieved to see the damage was minimal.

"Who did this?" he asked.

I screwed my nose up and averted my eyes, mumbling some noncommittal nonsense about an errant skip.

"Well, whoever it was didn't push hard enough to snap ligaments. It looks like just a few strained muscles."

I nodded and looked away.

Taking in my expression, I saw something click in his brain. "Steph. You weren't scheduled to be out in the field today." Bobby said, and I could feel the suspicion and concern in his gaze. I had escaped into the meeting as soon as I could; making sure my shoulder remained unjostled as Bobby stared after me.

I sighed as I laid my tired head back against the seat, resting my aching muscles. I still felt the irrational tug of guilt on my heart. Why did I feel this way? Why did I feel like it was my fault, that I had done something to deserve such as merciless and unwarranted attack? But most of all, I worried about Carlos. He had refused to look at me for the rest of the day, had spoken only a few words to me and ignored me the rest of the time. The men noticed the waves of fury rolling off him during the meeting, and everyone was tense, walking on eggshells around Carlos lest they incurred his wrath.

I couldn't understand his anger—was it directed at me? Or himself? And I had no idea how to fix it. I had moved back home a few days ago at his insistence, but I was worried. He had assured me he was sleeping fine, that the nightmares that had plagued his dreams had all but vanished. But I was unsure. Something from that mission had changed him, and I worried for him.

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The meeting had gone ahead despite what had happened, so I had tried to pay attention and participate as best I could. We had compared Last Known locations, MO's, ages, appearances, dates, places found; everything. Every seemingly insignificant detail of the case was hashed out in an attempt to find the common thread that linked these girls together, that made _them_ targets.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair as the guys continued to throw around ideas, referencing other cases, to suggest and find fault in theories. We were getting nowhere fast, and I could tell from the faces of my friends around me that it was beginning to seem hopeless.

Bobby had his head laid on the conference table and Carlos was reading the timeline board, his back to me. Lester and Ram were arguing the significance of the variety of locations victims were found in, with increasing amounts of violence.

_Hey, Les, Ram," I said, waving them down as they began to take out their frustration on each other. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way." They quieted down, turning their attention to me, and I continued. "The variety of these cases and the sheer quantity of information associated with them means finding a common thread immediately somewhat less likely. So let's take a different angle. Let's not figure out what this sicko is, but what he's ____not__. The big picture. We know that his victim's ages range from 15-23 years old. So he likes young girls, most likely because he is close to those ages himself—and that fits with the median age of most rapists. We know that all the girls, and the places they were found, are within the greater Trenton area. The guy we're looking for is probably familiar with the area, either living close by or having lived here at some point in his life. We know that only girls are targeted, so he's probably not homosexual. We know he has used a knife to assert his power. Studies show that most often rape is a demonstration of domination, power; and it's ____not__ primarily a sexual act._

_"We need to identify at this point which of the girls on the list we have here are from the guy we're looking for. It goes unsaid that serial offenders, whether it be killers, rapists, thieves, whatever, develop a pattern. An MO that works for them, something which marks the crime as 'theirs' especially in cases like these involving multiple victims. So what's the link?"_

_The guys pondered that for a moment or two, some flicking through the profiles of each girl, some staring off into space, brows creased as they mentally compared the cases._

_"What about the knife?" Cal said, looking at me earnestly. "It's used in most of the nine cases we have listed, and could mean the guy didn't have a lot of time to subdue and attack; which would make sense if he was just grabbing them at random. He could also have used it to mark the girls in a particular way, probably something that seems incidental enough to the Medical Examiners that it was not noted with any significance."_

_I smiled at Cal, and I could see the other guys heads perk up, focusing at this new idea._

_"Perfect. Why don't we compare crime scene photos; look for something big first, and then if we can't find something, analyse the ME's report." A list of crime scene photos flicked up onto the screen at the front of the room, chronologically ordered._

_"Let's go from the start. Carlie Rowan, Age 17, raped and killer December 3__rd__ last year." A school photo of a young girl smiling into the camera flashed onto the screen in a corner. Next to it was her crime scene photo. She lay sprawled on her stomach, her clothes torn and bloody, visible slashes on her skin where the knife had torn through her clothes to her flesh below. I could see her bright blue eyes, staring, unseeingly from her pale face. Bile rose in my throat but I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself to tamp it down. 'Get it together,' I told myself. 'This is more important.'_

_"Ok. Obvious or significant injuries. The rapist probably left it displayed, so if it's there, it should be reasonably obvious." I forced myself to look back at the photo, trying to ignore my emotions and analyse it objectively._

_"She has nicks and small cuts along her arms..." Bobby swallowed, giving his head a shake, and seeming to refocus. "But the most obvious is probably the slash to her back. Is that the sort of thing?" _

_I examined it. Carlie's back had been cut from the top of her left shoulder blade, diagonally down her back and extending to the top of her pelvis._

_"Good," I nodded, "Let's look at the others."_

It had taken four hours, but we'd done it. We now had a list of only six girls that had been raped by the person – the person we were looking for – each with the characteristic diagonal slash along her back. We had confirmed the list with TPD and alerted them that the remaining three girls should be investigated individually, and received a call back later that night that after some initial inquiries all three had prime suspects that were close to them, and not linked to the other girls.

I rose from my bench on the porch, walking down to the soft sand, smiling a little as I felt it tickle my toes. The cold water of the ocean washed over my feet as I walked slowly along the shore, watching as the sunset cast a pink and orange glow upon the horizon. I found myself praying, not something I did very often, as I walked that evening. I prayed for each of the victims, that they would find peace wherever they were now. I prayed that we would find the bastard who did this.

But most of all I prayed for Carlos, that sometime soon he would let me back in. That he would let me help him.

_It was 2 months, 27 days, 21 hours and 50 minutes until Stephanie disappeared_.

_And Carlos was angry._

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So. **Review! **

It will take approximately 15 seconds, and make me inordinately happy!


	6. Seeking a Momentary Fix

Just wanted to say thanks for putting up with me :) And the song in the Chapter Titles is "Mercy" by OneRepublic.

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**Chapter 6**

**Seeking a Momentary Fix**

_April 5, Stephanie's House._

When the shrill tones of my mobile woke me at 4am, just as the horizon was beginning to lighten as dawn approached, I knew something was wrong. It's that unexplainable feeling, that dread that spreads like a drug no matter how hard we fight, and infects everything. Possibilities presented themselves in quick succession. My family? Grandma had been having trouble with her kidneys lately, but I thought it was under control. My friends? A definite possibility. Though I'm not sure they would call me in if one of the guys was shot overnight—better to wait until morning when more would be clear about his condition. I felt my heart stutter as an icy shiver slid down my spine. Another victim?

I snatched up the phone, pushing my hair haphazardly out of my eyes as I hit the call button.

"Yes?"

"Babe." His voice was hoarse and exhausted, rasping as he spoke. My heart stuttered again.

"Carlos? What's wrong, what's happened?" Ignoring my question, he responded with another, in a more urgent tone.

"Babe, where are you? Are you secure?"

"Um, Yeah, I..." I sat up in bed and forgetting all memory of sleep in the wake of his worry. Something was wrong. "I'm at home, the security is online and registering no faults or intrusions." I said, checking the digital read out on the panel next to my bed.

"Everything's fine Carlos." I said soothingly, trying to quieten his fast breathing. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

He hesitated for a long moment, and I could hear him running his callused palms over his tired eyes.

Seconds passed. He sighed.

"Nothing Babe. Go back to sleep."

"Carlos, you called to wake me at 4am. That in itself is worrying, let alone having me check my security. Are you ok?" I said. Softening my voice "Did you have another nightmare?"

The chair he was sitting in creaked as he leaned back, and rested his head against it.

"No Babe," He said, in a way that had me in no doubt that something of the sort had happened recently. " We..." He hesitated again, clearly wondering how much to tell me.

He took a deep breath, and finished the sentence. "We received a package."

I waited. "Yes...?"

He seemed to steel himself for a moment. "...From the rapist."

I choked, heart racing as I fought to prevent my stomach contents from making a reappearance.

"What did it say?" I coughed out, hand over my mouth as my stomach muscles contracted.

"Not much." He said shortly, his tone indicating he was finished talking. "We'll discuss it in the morning. Go back to sleep."

"Carl-" But all I heard was a dial tone.

Replacing my phone on the bedside table I turned over in my bed, staring out the window as the sky turned brilliant shades of pink and orange and the moon began to fade. What was in the package? Why had the rapist suddenly decided to contact us?

The wind rose and the waves crashed harder against the shore until the sky was grey and threatening in the half-light, the air heavy with the imminent rain. What I wondered most, as I lay there; watching the storm brew, what I worried about most was why Carlos had checked on me. And as the first clap of thunder announced the beginning of the storm as I watched, heart beating fast and fear threatening to clamp down on me, I closed my eyes and admitted to myself. The only reason he could have called to check was that he was worried about me and me specifically.

That whatever was contained in the package was a threat. To my life.

0 0 0

The rain pounded down on my windscreen as I pulled onto the highway and hour later, blocking just about everything from view and reducing the cars in front of me to blurred, ghostly lights. I had tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, unable to control or subdue the feverish thoughts that kept creeping into my mind. Images of previous attacks, crime scene photos, possibilities of crimes so atrocious that they reached beyond the realms of decency. And whatever it was that lay inside that package.

I was tired and drawn as I pulled into the Rangeman car park, having only bothered to pull on a pair of black jeans, a shirt and leather jacket since I was coming in so early. The 5th floor was near empty as the skeleton crew who worked nights rounded out the end of their shifts, still managing to remain alert despite the hour.

I waved hello to Zip who was manning the internal monitors as I passed. He gave me a tight smile, and it was only then that I realised the undercurrent of tense watchfulness that pervaded the room. My smile faded. Whatever the package contained, it had everyone worried; and by the furtive looks the guys were giving me, they were worried about me.

"You heard?" Zip said, leaning back in his chair and scrutinising my face with his dark eyes.

"Not really. All I know is that a package arrived, and that it concerned me." He nodded after a pause, the tension clear in his expression.

"Ranger has been working on it, and the men involved in the investigation have been called in early. They should be arriving soon. Then we'll crank up the search."

"Where is he now?"

"Tank sent him up to 7 to get some rest. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. He was running himself ragged trying to collaborate a search team. Tank's taking care of it till morning, and for the rest of the day too if Ranger doesn't settle down."

I murmured a brief thanks to him as I heard Tank's office door open.

"Steph." He said, a look of pronounced relief moving over his face, engulfing me in a bear hug.

"Hey big guy. You want to tell me what's going on?" He pulled me into his office, shutting the door behind us. "I got a panicked phone call from Ranger at 4 in the morning, seeing if I was ok."

He sat down on his desk, looking at me carefully.

"What did he tell you?" he said, evasively.

"Just that a package had arrived from the guy. I guessed because he had called that it must have had something to do with me."

Tank nodded slowly, clearly wondering how much to tell me. "Ranger probably wants to tell you all this, but he hasn't been sleeping since you left. Been skipping meals too. He's dropped a lot of muscle and his body's beginning to falter."

My eyebrows contracted as I frowned. "How much sleep has he been getting, exactly?"

"About one to two hours a night. The rest of the time he spends working or in the gym and it's taking its toll."

"Why didn't you say—" A knock on the door interrupted my question.

"Babe?" Carlos walked in, barefoot, a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips and a black t shirt that used to be tight hanging loosely over his torso.

"Hi..." I said, suddenly struck by his hollowed, empty eyes and the deep purple shadows that stretched beneath them.

"I had one of the guys call me when you arrived. Are you ok?"

"Ranger, you're supposed to be sleeping." Tank said, voice stern.

"I'm fine, Tank." But I stepped forward, looking at his face, shocked at the exhaustion that seemed to emanate from every line. I put my hand softly to his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath my fingers.

"Carlos...What have you done to yourself?" He shook his head, and again I could see that phantom pain in his eyes that never seemed to leave him, that haunted look of a man who had seen too much to bear.

Pulling myself back together I took his hand and led him towards the door.

"Tank, you can brief me in the morning. I'm going to take Carlos and make sure that he gets some rest."

As the elevator doors closed I put my arms around Carlos, trying vainly to take away some of the pain that seemed to be eating away at his ability to live. I tucked my face into his shoulder as he pressed his face to my hair, pulling me close to him.

'What's happened to you?' I thought as I held him, breathing in his scent. What had affected him so much? What was disturbing him so badly that he could not sleep or eat? I took him by the hand again as the doors opened, walking into his apartment and to the bedroom. He lay down obediently on the sheets crumpled at the base from restless nights, and I got in beside him.

"We both need some rest," I said quietly, watching as his eyes began to relax already with my presence, and his breathing slowed. "Just relax Carlos. I'll be here when you wake up."

And with that, tucked together so each could draw strength and comfort from the other, we fell asleep in each other's arms, oblivious to what fear and uncertainty that day would hold.

_It was 2 months, 25 days, 11 hours and 8 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And Carlos was haunted._


	7. All I Wanted to Say

Song in the Chapter titles is Mercy by OneRepublic. The song in this chapter is Lullaby by Newton Faulkner. I know it's a short one today, but I just felt it was a really good place to stop. I promise I'll update again soon.

Thanks for everything and pleasepleaseplease review.

Please.

Schaefy

**Chapter 7**

**All I Wanted to Say**

I lay in bed, much later, feeling my breath come and go. Carlos next to me, the rise and fall of his chest reassuring under my arm, stretched peacefully over his chest. The rain still pattered against the window pane, breaking the silence and into my thoughts.

_Close your eyes  
Get some sleep  
It's too late now  
To change anything_

It had been a long time, for me. A long time since I had felt something for someone that went beyond platonic friendship. I touched a fingertip to his face, feeling the stubble of his cheek as I breathed in his scent. His face had lost the edge, the hardness it had to it when he was awake; it had softened enough to let me see the man beneath the mask, to show his emotions just a little.

He moved a little in his sleep as my hand touched his hair and I curled my fingers into a fist as I pulled them back to my chest, in an attempt to keep them away from his face. The pull I felt towards him was incredible, unappeasable. It was unconscious, life giving; that instinct to be as close to him as possible every moment of every day. I could feel, intuitively, when he was close. I could feel the pain that filled his heart through the day, and the memories of unspeakable things that haunted him through the night. The way he seemed to be living a half-life; so damaged by his memories he just couldn't function anymore. The way his rare, faint smiles never reached his eyes; or the distant look in his eyes that flickered away in a moment. It was a sweet anguish to be with him, a delirious pleasure that made me so happy I felt all I could do was laugh. But a crushing misery, a curse that while he was physically there, but was in so much agony all the time that it was all he could do to keep going on autopilot.

_But it's alright  
Get some sleep  
It's so dark outside_

I realised then, as I lay there, that I had made my decision a long time ago. I would do anything, anything to help him. I loved him so deeply, so wholly that I didn't care anymore. I didn't care if the sun rose or set, if the world turned or the waves crashed. I didn't care if we lived in Trenton, or Bosnia, or camped on the moon. I didn't care if I was sick, or well, if all we ate was stale bread or I slept in a cardboard box. I didn't care, so long as wherever I was, and whatever I did, he was with me.

_So close your eyes  
And feel the world turn round_

Carlos moved onto his back in his sleep, mumbling a little as a tiny frown creased his brow. Gently, so as not to wake him, I placed the softest, lightest of kisses on his lips as he slept. His hand moved towards my face, slowly stroking my cheek, rough fingertips burning a trail down my face.

"Babe..." he murmured, eyes closed "Babe."

_If you're not lost  
I guess that makes you found._

0 0 0

_It was 2 months, 25 days, 7 hours and 49 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And Carlos was sleeping._


	8. All I Wanted to Do

_**Chapter 8**_

_**All I Wanted to Do**_

_April 5, Rangeman Conference Room_

I was huddled in a chair, clutching a mug of hot coffee when Carlos and the guys entered the room for the briefing. Carlos has slept for about an hour longer after I had woken, and as soon as his eyes opened, I knew it was no good trying to convince him to go back to sleep. I had, however, managed to get him to eat a bagel and a protein shake which looked like the first decent meal he'd eaten in days. The sleep seemed to have fortified him as well, and he was looking more alert and in control than when I had arrived. Only the slight tightness of his mouth and the tenseness in his shoulders betrayed his concern about the package we'd received.

"At approximately 3:30am this morning, we received a package by special courier; addressed to R. C. Manoso." Tank said, sitting down in the chair opposite me and passing around files. "After affirming there was no threat contained within the package it was opened. A copy of the note is included in the file."

I pulled out a photocopy of a white sheet of paper, with a few lines of impeccably perfect handwriting spanning its width.

"_Good morning Carlos,_

_Something to enjoy over your morning coffee. I hope you appreciate my work. Say hello to Stephanie for me and tell her that I shall be seeing her very soon."_

Attached were three 8x10 photos. The first showed Victoria Simmons, the latest victim, lying sprawled on the ground, obviously unconscious. Her hair was matted with blood and dirt, and her eyes were half open staring at nothing. Her shirt had been cut open to reveal the half healed slit across her back beneath its bandages, and the blood trickling from the new stab marks surrounding it. She was dead.

I held my breath as the room stayed silent, trying force back my revulsion at the murder.

Tank continued after a moment, his face passive, eyes hard. "We conducted a search of possible locations and found her this morning, around 6am. She'd been thrown into a dumpster outside a restaurant just west of town. She'd been dead for twelve hours. The pathologists are working on her now, and they should have a preliminary report to us in a couple of hours."

I forced myself to take a deep breath and recompose my expression as I looked at the others. Bobby was staring at his hands, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he tried to keep his cool. Lester was stone faced; frustration and pain clear in his eyes. But it was Carlos' dark eyes I found, soft and concerned as he looked at me, silently offering me comfort. I managed a small smile, to tell him I was coping so far.

Tank brought up the next photo on the screen, and I felt fear rising in my chest as I slowly brought my eyes up to look. A chill shivered down my spine as I saw who it was. It was me. I was walking across the street outside Rangeman, hands tucked deep in my pockets against the raging wind, a melancholy expression on my face.

"That was yesterday..." I said faintly, staring at the image of myself. "I was just coming in from following up some leads." Tank's hand settled on my shoulder as I stared, transfixed. He had been so close. So close to Rangeman, to me, to Carlos. He couldn't have been farther than the end of the street judging by the angle of the photo. Within easy shooting distance. I shivered again, tearing my eyes away from the picture to look somewhere else, _anywhere_ else to try and pull myself together.

"Look, this guy is getting more serious as days pass and if this keeps going, we've got no idea what he'll ultimately be capable of.

"Once we finish the briefing we should start looking at these photos properly, see if we can't spot anything that might help us figure out who this guy is. Fingerprint everything, check for DNA on the envelope and contents, look at anything this guy has given us. This is an opportunity, let's use it."

The others nodded, but it was Carlos' dark, piercing stare that caught my eyes.

"There's one more photo." He said, eyes cold and empty as he spoke.

The sickness that had been threatening to overwhelm me turned my stomach again, and I clamped my jaw shut in an attempt to stay focused. I swallowed, and took a deep breath, before turning to look at the final photo.

Looking back on it, the first thing that struck me was that it was beautiful, a work of art. I was lying asleep in my bed, my wild curls fanned wildly across the pillow: one hand tucked close as the other lay haphazardly across the blanket. The moonlight shone through the window, its beams giving the scene a slightly ethereal look, making my pale skin shine against my singlet. It was chilling.

But as I stared at the picture, something else struggled into consciousness. The angle. The photo was taken from inside the room, no more than a few feet from where I lay, oblivious. I choked, growing pale as I continued to gaze at the photo. He had been so close to me, so close I could have reached out and touched me. He had been able to fool my security measures, get past the cameras and motion sensors, the alarm and the deadlocked door. He had watched me as I slept, had had my life in the palm of his hand and for some inexplicable reason, decided to let me live. To make me fear him, to fill my heart with the cold dread that was heavy in my chest at that moment. I stood quickly, swiftly pushing my chair back and sprinting to the bathroom just in time to heave up breakfast. Images flashed through my mind as I retched, clenching my fists so hard my nails drew blood. Victoria Simmons, who had died for no reason. All those girls, whose lives had either been taken, or ruined by this man. Carlos' men, who were so obviously anxious about me. And Carlos.

I felt a tear hit my cheek as I coughed and sunk down onto the floor, my stomach muscles continuing to cramp despite my empty stomach. The tiles felt frigid against my clammy cheek, a fine sheen of sweat causing me to shiver weakly as I lay there.

Carlos. He had been through so much now, so much more than I could even begin to imagine. And no matter how hard I tried to help him, I just knew it would never be enough. I hadn't experienced the things he'd seen and done, there was no way I could completely understand; no way I could know what it was he needed so desperately, but seemed to always be just out of reach. I did my best for him, I stayed with him when he needed me, tried to make sure he cared for himself, and to be there to talk if he wanted to. But the things he had seen, those terrible things were burned into his heart and mind in a way that not even I could erase. And yet after all that, after surviving for so long and battling on, in the end all I was doing was damaging him more. This threat to me was as much intended against Carlos as well, and I was so, so sorry that even when he was home, in his own apartment with his friends and family, that he couldn't escape these things. A man that had done so much for his country, who had fought so bravely again and again and again deserved so much more than this!

My sobs echoed on the tiled walls as I lay shivering on the cold floor, curling into myself as I cried for myself, the victims, my friends and family. But most of all I knew, as the tears cascaded down my pale cheeks and pooled upon the ground, I was crying for Carlos. Because I couldn't seem to make him better, and it was killing me a little more each day.

_It was 2 months, 25 days, 4 hours and 13 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And Carlos was tormented._

0 0 0

Once again, thanks for putting up with me. Just had a sudden flash of inspiration tonight; don't know why? Anyway, song in the titles in "Mercy" by OneRepublic.

**PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE REVIEW! IT WILL TAKE ABOUT 30 SECONDS AND MAKE ME VERY HAPPY!**

And I need some happy about now!

Schaefy


	9. Is Fall Apart Now

_**Chapter 9**_

_**Is Fall Apart Now**_

_April 5, Rangeman_

It felt like forever as I lay there, like I had fallen out of the world. I wasn't there, I was alone, empty, a ghost. As my breathing slowed and my sobs died, I stayed still on the floor. It felt like my body was suddenly made of lead, so heavy, so tired that I just couldn't do it anymore. So I stayed there. At that moment in time, that instant, that second; everything just seemed to crash down on me. The misery, the futility of life. The endless pain it seemed to be composed of. That infinite potential that always seemed to blow up in my face, and push me just a little further back than I had managed to recover. I watched unfeeling as the blood trickled down my hand from the cuts I had made with my nails. Somewhere, deep inside me; inside the ineffectual numbness, I vaguely realised it felt good. The pain. Just to feel something, anything, right now felt good. Even if whatever it was simply damaged me more.

It dripped softly onto the floor, smudging as I moved my hand. Everything was hazy; like I was watching it on tv, or through a very, very long tunnel. Somewhere far away, I heard the door swing open, and somebody calling. The stall door opened suddenly, and although the person was speaking to me, touching my arm, calling my name, I couldn't bring myself to care. I didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I felt myself being pulled into his arms, knowing instinctually it was Carlos who was pressing me to his chest. Carlos that was talking to me and Carlos that held me as the silent tears fell to my cheeks. I was touching him, feeling the warmth of his arms and the grief in his words. But somehow, I just couldn't.

It was not death, for I stood up,  
And all the dead lie down.  
It was not night, for all the bells  
Put out their tongues for noon.

It was not frost, for on my flesh  
I felt siroccos crawl,  
Nor fire, for just my marble feet  
Could keep a chancel cool.

And yet it tasted like them all,  
The figures I have seen  
Set orderly for burial  
Reminded me of mine,

As if my life were shaven  
And fitted to a frame  
And could not breathe without a key,  
And 'twas like midnight, some,

When everything that ticked has stopped  
And space stares all around,  
Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,  
Repeal the beating ground;

But most like chaos, stopless, cool,  
Without a chance, or spar,  
Or even a report of land  
To justify despair.

0 0 0

It was a long time before she stopped crying. And though I held her to me so gently, I stroked her hair and told her again and again that it was ok, that everything would be ok; nothing helped. Promises as empty as the look in her eyes.

Her face was pale and bathed in cold sweat, her hand smearing blood over herself and the floor from a gash on her face she hadn't seemed to notice. She just lay there, limp, empty, hurting so badly and I couldn't help. I would have given anything, _anything_ to take her pain away, because I couldn't stand it. I couldn't bear that she was hurting. She had been so much for me, had done so much for me and now she needed my help I felt lost and alone without her guidance. Even though my heart ached with each tear that ran down her cheek, I had no idea, no clue what I should do.

I pulled her to me tightly, tucking my face into her hair and breathing in her scent as I clenched my jaw, trying to keep it together.

"Babe," I choked out, feeling her tears soak my shirt as I crushed her into my shoulder, "Babe, please come back. I need you, I can't..." I took a sharp breath, holding her as if she were my only lifeline.

Her hand closed lightly on my jacket as I breathed deeply, whispering gently into her ear.

"I can't do this without you."

_It was 2 months, 25 days, 4 hours and 8 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And Carlos was lost._

0 0 0

First off, apologies for the short chapter. Sorry! Second, the poem was "It was not death" by Emily Dickinson: fantastic poet, go check out her writing.

**PLEASE REVIEW. REVIEWS=LOVE=MORE UPDATES**

Thanks for reading.

Schaefy


	10. All I Wanted to Feel

_**All I Wanted to Feel**_

_April 5, Rangeman_

It took me an hour before I could face going back into that room, where flashes of those awful images still seared my mind. After taking me up to his apartment and helping me clean my teeth and wash my clammy face, Carlos just looked at me as he leant against the doorframe. I could see my reflection in the mirror next to him, and shivered. I looked small as I curled into myself, holding my arms tight across my chest; dwarfed by the sheer size of the room, and Carlos' large frame. My eyes seemed dead in my pale face, wisps of hair falling unchecked into my eyes as I refused to unwind my arms from around myself.

I could see in his momentarily expressive eyes tighten fractionally, almost imperceptibly as they lingered over my face. I wanted so badly to convince him I was ok, to spare him the pain of my suffering in addition to his own. But keeping myself together was taking all my strength and forced me to just watch as the anguish clear in his eyes increased as I didn't relax.

I shivered in my shirtsleeves, dropping my eyes to the floor. I couldn't bear to look at his face any longer. Slowly, as if ensuring he wouldn't startle me, he reached for my hand and pulled me into the warmth and security of his embrace. We just stood there for a while, my hands clasped around him just as his arms encircled me, feeling the comforting beating of each other's hearts and our slow rhythmic breathing. I tucked my face into his neck and finally relaxing my shoulders as I inhaled his trademark scent of Bulgari and himself. And, just for a moment, I no longer cared. I didn't care that someone was sending me death threats, or had violated my privacy. I didn't care that I was struggling to hold all the pieces of myself together when all I wanted to do was curl up and cry until it was over. Just being near him, feeling the warmth and comfort of his arms was enough for me. I sighed quietly as I felt his hand gently stroke my hair, and closed my eyes. I honestly wished we could stay like this for ever. I didn't want to think or sleep or eat or feel the pain that seemed to permeate my life. I wouldn't need to, as long as he was with me.

After a moment more he pulled away, until he could see my face, hands running down my arms to grasp mine. His dark eyes seemed to be burning into mine for a long moment, a hint of anguished longing in his expression as he continued to look hungrily at me, as if he were trying to sear the memory of my face into his mind. Then he looked away, and something broke. I pulled my hands away back to my chest, eyes stinging with tears that threatened to overflow. feeling more vulnerable than before.

"Come on," he said, not meeting my wary gaze as he stared out of the open door. "I'll get you something to drink."

0 0 0

He settled me down on the couch, wrapping a blanket around me so carefully that I felt the lump forming in my throat again. I closed my eyes, feelings the brief brush of his lips on my hair. The world seemed to melt away for that second, and I sighed, concentrating on the feeling of his touch. Not quite knowing what I was doing I turned towards him as he pulled away, sliding my hand into his as I stared into his eyes, just inches away from mine. I could feel his breath on my face, the warmth of his skin so close to mine that I yearned to press my lips to his. I knew I was sailing very close to the wind here. Carlos could never feel half of what I felt for him, and I wasn't sure I could stand his rejection. He just meant too much to me; a friend, a colleague, a confidante, but most importantly, someone I trusted implicitly with my life. I couldn't stand the thought of adding to his pain, to bring the complexities of love into the already murky waters of our friendship. I didn't trust anyone to care for him as I did, to look out for him and give him a push when he needed it. If something wrong, if, for some inconceivable reason things did not work out... I didn't think I could bear not being there for him.

I felt his breath come again as we stayed absolutely motionless, both aware that while this was when things changed. Our relationship couldn't continue to go on as it had done, on a knife point. It had to fall. One way or the other.

Very slowly, reaching my hand to his stubbled cheek, I pulled his face towards mine.

My heart pounded in my chest.

A jagged breath.

A moment.

I felt his lips brush mine as he leant towards me, soft and unbearably sweet in the haze of the moment. His breath quickened as he broke away for a moment, before pressing his lips to mine again, his arms holding me to his chest. I could feel his gentle hands on my back, in my hair, fingertips trailing across my cheek. My arms around his neck, I sank into the heady wonder as his lips travelled away from mine to press feather light kisses down to the sensitive skin of my neck that made me shiver. I don't think I had ever felt such a bitter sweet joy in my life; the absolute ecstasy at the touch of his lips to mine and the feeling of his hands coupled with the devastating consequences this could have.

I opened my eyes as he looked at me, his so full of a tortured, anguished joy that nearly broke my heart. It was a paradox; a beautiful, magical impossibility that had suddenly appeared in my life as beautiful and threatening as the sky before a summer storm. We just looked at each other, unspeaking. There was nothing to say, nothing that could be said that wouldn't break that spell that seemed to have overcome us.

The quiet ringing of his phone broke into my reverie, and suddenly, the moment had passed. A moment later he was walking swiftly across the room from me, speaking quietly to the comm. Room as he studiously avoided looking at me. Pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them again, I tried to hide the tear that fell onto my cheek. The ecstasy was gone. Only reality remained, cruel and hopeless.

Only vaguely did I realise he had stopped talking, and was looking at a point somewhere over my head as he spoke to me.

"I have to go check on something. I'll see you later. Call if you need something." His voice was distant and curt as he continued to avoid me. Nothing of the man I had been talking with only minutes before. I didn't bother trying to shield my tears from him as he quickly walked out the door, as if he couldn't get away from me fast enough.

I hugged the blanket to me as the sobs heaved my body, the agony filling my heart until it overflowed.

He was so important to me; so, so important. I had ruined it. Our friendship, that trust, that bond that ran so deep. It lay shattered in the dust.

All I could do was sit there in the empty apartment, with a thousand reminders of the man I had just lost watching as I cried.

_It was 2 months, 25 days, 2 hours and 49 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And things were getting complicated._

0 0 0

Title lyrics 'Mercy' by OneRepublic.


	11. I Wanted to Love

_**Chapter 11**_

_**I Wanted to Love**_

_April 5 , Rangeman_

Tears blurred my vision as I managed to stumble out of his apartment and into the elevator, wiping my wet cheeks as I punched the Garage button. My breath was still jerky, mind blank as all I managed to feel was the anguish in my heart. I couldn't think or comprehend or regret yet... the tumult of the day that was not even waning yet overwhelming me with so many nameless, painful, excruciating emotions that tore me heart in so many ways, each managing to stab me again and again with an agony I thought would never end . I leant my head against the wall of the elevator, hiding my face from the camera so the guys wouldn't see me as I tried desperately to hold on for just a few more seconds, until I was properly alone.

The doors opened as I turned, hearing sounds from the stairwell I had known would come. Tank and Lester burst through the door as I reached my car, pulling the keys from my jacket pocket. They would have watched Carlos from the Comm room, walking swiftly out of the apartment door, presumably down to the fifth floor and into his office. Then me, a few minutes later, clearly upset and intent on escaping the building.

"Steph!, Stephanie! What..." I slammed the door of my Jeep as the pain in my chest redoubled, and I let out a sob, fumbling as I tried to put the key in the ignition and gunning the engine as it caught. My tires screeched on the floor as I put my foot down, not even noticing Tank and Lester as they tried to catch hold of the doors as I sped past, almost hitting the gate as it opened just far enough for me to pass through.

I didn't want to think, or reason, or be in any way conscious. I just wanted numbness. To be isolated from the world, to close of my senses and recede into myself while I attempted to reconcile myself to everything that had happened together. More than anything, though; more than all my fears for the victims of the killer, his threats for me and whatever he was going to do next, what I wanted at this point was to be as far away from Carlos as humanly possible. The air seemed to have been sucked out of my lungs as I realised that, and I clutched at my throat and coughed as great gasping sobs threatened to overwhelm me. I had never felt so alone. Not when I was a kid, always singled out and in some way deficient.

Not when I was a student, isolated from my family and the other people in my classes. Not when I was training alone or eating or sleeping or whiling away the solitary hours of the weekend until the working week began again. I had destroyed the one positive thing I had. I had ruined my friendship with Carlos, beyond repair and retribution. Things could never go back to the way they were; too much had been revealed tonight. We had shared a moment, a kiss, so tender and full of love of an intensity I had never known to exist. I was so desperate to be able to tell him how much I needed his love, acceptance and support; and though it would cause me actual physical pain, I would infinitely prefer to love him privately if it meant only that I could remain part of his life. To lose him completely would kill me; that much I was sure of.

I tore through the city streets, rain sheeting onto the windscreen as I sped through the darkened city, the grey sky dangerous and menacing. Time became immeasurable, brake lights fading into blurred patches of red as the traffic moved listlessly around me and I stared blankly out of the windshield. I neither noticed, nor cared where I was going. All I wanted was to run so hard my problems would never catch up with me, to forget everything and just... live. Just care for Carlos and do my job, and ask nothing more of the world. I hit the steering wheel with my hand as I choked out a sob, gripping it so hard my knuckles turned white.

After a time, I noticed I had stopped the car at my house on the beach. I just sat there, hands in my lap, seatbelt buckled. The sound of the torrential rain outside was muffled by the car, the wind whistling past the house and throwing up whitecaps on the rough waves crashing on the beach. Not quite aware of what I was doing, I slowly opened the door, getting out of the car as the sharp, cold wind and the smell of rain and sea hit me.

_Looking out from underneath,_

_Fractured moonlight on the sea,  
Reflections still look the same to me,  
As before I went under._

I was soaked by the time I had made it a few steps away from the Jeep; trudging listlessly towards the cold sandy line of the beach that had been my salvation from all the hurt in the world for many years. I pushed my sopping hair out of my eyes as I walked, not feeling the cold or the stinging rain or the spray of salty water. My mind was blissfully, mercifully blank. Taking off my shoes and throwing my jacket down on the sand, I moved towards the water, almost as if I were in a trance.

_And it's peaceful in the deep,  
Feed you where you cannot breathe,  
No need to pray, no need to speak,_

_Now I am under  
_

The waves were huge, dumping tonnes of water onto the beach with an angry snarl of crashing, pounding relentlessly at the land that continued to contain it. I felt it wash over my toes, strangely warm in contrast to the freezing wind that whipped my bare arms. I took a step forward. The current tugged at my knees as I pushed still deeper until it lapped around my waist. My wet clothes felt bulky and heavy as I stood, buffeted by the wind and thrust about by the waves. I closed my eyes as a particularly large wave hit me, forcing me under; salt water pouring into my mouth as I tried to breath, my arms fighting to pull myself to the surface.

_And it's breaking over me,  
A thousand miles onto the sea bed,  
I found the place to rest my head._

Never let me go,

_never let me go.  
Never let me go,_

_never let me go._

My head burst out of the water as I sucked in a huge lungful of air, feeling the pull of the rip taking hold and threaten to drag me out. I touched my feet to the ground for a moment as I turned back to the beach, a single tear rolling down my cheek. I could see a black car screeching into my drive and two men tearing out of it towards the water.

_Though, the pressure's hard to take,  
It's the only way I can escape,  
It seems a heavy choice to make,  
Now I am under.  
_

I took a breath. I became deaf to the wind that howled through the ocean, the crash of the waves and the distant shouts. I didn't feel the cold of the rain that stung my skin, or my frozen fingers. A huge force punched my back, water crushing me into the sandbank as the current seemed to grab me in an instant and rip me away from the shore.

_And the arms of the ocean are carrying me,  
And all this devotion was rushing over me,  
And the question to heaven, for a sinner like me,  
But the arms of the ocean delivered me._

My lungs screamed for air as I felt myself being crushed by wave after wave, hitting my head against the bottom and trying desperately to resist the urge to take a breath full of water. I pulled my arms close to my chest as I floated on the bottom, buffeted endlessly by the sudden rushes of waves passing over me. It was utterly quiet, not a sound reaching my ears.

_And it's over,  
And I'm going under,  
But I'm not giving up.  
I'm just giving in.  
Slipping underneath.  
So cold, but so sweet._

My tired muscles began to relax as my eyes closed. Another wave. My mind was unfocusing. Thoughts blurring into each other as I floated limp in the water.

I opened my mouth to the salt water that entrapped me.

And took a breath.

_In the arms of the ocean, so sweet and so cold,  
And all this devotion, well, I never knew went on,  
And the question to heaven, for a sinner released,  
But the arms of the ocean delivered me._

_It was 2 months, 25 days, 1 hour and 42 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And she was drowning._

0 0 0

Chapter titles 'Mercy' by OneRepublic. Song is "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + The Machine.


	12. It's All My Fault Now

_**It's All My Fault Now**_

_April 16, Tank's House_

I opened my eyes as I heard the door open and close quietly, and footsteps approaching the bed.

"Bombshell! How's my favourite patient coming along" Bobby smiled cheerily down at me as he tugged his stethoscope from around his neck, placing the buds in his ears before helping me to sit up enough for him to check my lung function.

"Hmm..." he said, and I could almost hear him frowning as he moved the end to various places on my back as I took the customary deep breaths, trying not to start a coughing fit as best I could. After a while he stood up and propped up my pillows so I could sit up a little in bed, kissing me on the forehead affectionately as he pulled up my blanket to make sure I was warm enough.

"I'm not going to lie Steph, you're not getting better as quickly as I'd like. There's still a lot of congestion in your lungs, though it is gradually improving. Have you been doing everything I asked? Making sure you're clearing up enough to breathe comfortably by coughing?"

I managed a smile at his quick turn from affectionate friend to reproving doctor, trying to assure him I was doing everything I was supposed to.

After I had been caught by the tide and pulled under, Tank and Lester who had tracked my car to the beach had leapt into action, ultimately saving my life. After stripping down to his cargoes, Tank had sprinted into the water as Lester called for Bobby and a back up team. Tank had swum directly to where I had gone under, slicing his way through the waves faster than seemed possible, and started diving under to try and find me. He had caught my arm on the fifth dive and pulled me to the surface; lips blue and not breathing. Somehow he'd managed to get me back to shore, tugging me out of the way of the waves still crashing against the shore and checking for vital signs. They told me later I was cold as ice and deathly pale as I lay there, the torrential rain hitting my face unnoticed as it washed the salty water from my skin. Tank had quickly begun CPR after he found a weak pulse, turning me over first to try and get some of the water out of my mouth. It was a few minutes before I showed any more signs of life, suddenly starting to cough and vomit seawater out of my lungs and stomach, choking in an effort to try and breathe lungfuls of air I had never been so desperate for.

By the time Bobby had arrived the boys had carried me into the house, unceremoniously stripping off most of my wet clothes and covering me with as many blankets and hot water bottles as they could find. I could remember vague snatches of worried conversation as I'd lain there, felt myself being carried into the bathroom and deposited into a tub full of warm water that seared my skin. I just felt so tired and groggy, like my brain couldn't quite put thoughts together yet. I spent the greater part of the night at my house until they deemed me fit enough to be removed to Tank's loft behind Rangeman; chosen because it was close, but with a smaller chance of my returning to work to early as would have occurred had I stayed in one of the 4th floor apartments. We knew my place was no longer secure, and nothing would induce them to let me stay in my own house to recover from my ordeal. It was nearly daybreak by the time the convoy left, me wrapped up in a blanket and supported in Lester's arms as I stared blankly out the window as the sky brightened, too exhausted to do anything but breathe.

I remembered very little of the next day, the sleep that claimed me soon after I was tucked into Tank's spare bed gradually evolving into a fever that disturbed my dreams. I sweated and tossed as the hours progressed, alternately throwing the blankets off my bed from the heat before I curled up tightly as huge shivers wracked my body and caused my muscles to cramp with the effort.

At 8pm that night Bobby diagnosed me with severe pneumonia as a result of the water that had gotten into my lungs, and the icy waves I had been exposed to. It was a few days before the fever fully dissipated and I was properly conscious again. Short periods of lucidity punctuated the fever, brief flashes of sunlight and darkness outside mingling with the worried faces of Tank, Bobby and Lester as they stayed with me around the clock. There was only one face I was looking for though, and only one face I never saw. Even in the haze of the fever I could feel my anxiety increasing as Carlos remained missing from my bedside companions, and my nightmares turned to him turning away from me again, over and over until tears trickled down my cheeks and my breath became choked with sobs until I coughed so hard I thought my chest was on fire with the pain. Cool hands had stroked my hair and face, murmurs of comforting voices I couldn't understand permeating the fog that filled my mind. But nothing helped. I curled up to my pillow as I cried, mumbling his name over and over in a weak whisper until I fell again into an exhausted, disturbed sleep.

A week after the fever broke I was managing to stay awake for the better part of the day, talking with some of the guys, watching movies or reading. I had been strictly denied hearing anything about work until I was completely better; I wasn't allowed to know any more than the cursory details of the slow progress that was being made, not allowed to read any of the reports or interview transcripts, despite wishing constantly I could pull my weight despite being bedridden. Instead Bobby had ordered me to take it as easy as possible and just let the thing take its course. It was, he had wisely said, the fastest way of getting back on my feet. So I resigned myself to Tank's spare room, spacious and light from the window through which the sun shone brightly every day as the weather improved. Despite the fact that I needed this break from the hectic pace of work, the long hours of solitude led to a melancholy that didn't go unnoticed. More than ten days had since passed, and I had neither seen nor heard anything about Carlos. The guys were strangely deaf to my questions, and the little I heard of him was only his contribution to the Rowan case. As each day passed my heart became increasingly raw, the ache of my chest not just from the endless coughing that plagued me. Too shocked and overwhelmed to cry, I simply sat there, day after day often for hours at a time, staring out the window and thinking of him: where he might be, what he was doing.

It was the nights that were worst though. The darkness felt lonelier than all the waking hours; forming a muffled blanket that trapped me with my fears and misery. The silent, numbing tears that soaked the pillow yielding nothing more than a tender, aching heart.

I pulled myself out of my reverie to answer Bobby's questions about my symptoms, uncomfortable with the way his eyes lingered on my pale face and the dark shadows under my eyes, crinkled with concern. It took me a moment to realise he'd stopped talking, and was simply watching me with a sad expression on his face. Sitting down on the side of my bed, he gently took the hand that lay upon the blanket. I turned my face to the window, the tears in my eyes threatening to overflow if I looked once more at his kind eyes.

"Steph," he struggled for words, pressing my hand in his, before raising it to rest lightly on my cheek. "He'll be back Steph. He'll come back. Whatever happened between you two, whatever you argued about; it doesn't matter. He needs you too much. He's been so lost these last two weeks without you, always desperate to know how you are. Be patient. He'll come."

I bit back a sob as a tear fell, the ache in my chest burning with the dull pain of my heart.

Bobby had someone stay with me most of the day, obviously having told them not to leave me on my own too long. Lester brought a pack of cards and ripped me off for a hundred imaginary dollars, Hal talked to me for an hour or two and Tank beat my half hearted attempt at Scrabble. I toyed with my dinner that night; only managing to stomach a few mouthfuls of the soup Ella, Carlos' housekeeper, had made me. I felt a nausea that had nothing to do with my pneumonia overcome me as I pushed the tray away from me, ignoring Lester's disapproving look at the amount of food left over.

"Shall I have Ella bring a protein shake or some dessert over for you?"He asked, pulling me into a quick hug and kissing the top of my head.

"No thanks, Les; I don't really feel like eating at the moment. I'm pretty tired; I think I'll just get some sleep." I said pointedly, wanting more than anything to be alone.

"Ok gorgeous. Holler if you need something, I'll be in the living room until Tank gets back."

I gave him a small smile as he closed the door, turning in my bed to face the wall and pulling my arms close to my chest. The coughing had worn me out today and my eyes were heavy with sleep, but I tossed and turned for hours in the impermeable darkness that filled the room. I stared listlessly at the blank ceiling, trying to clear my mind of him, to let go of the hurt. I heard Lester say goodbye to Tank as he arrived home and listened to the shower turn on briefly and Tank getting into bed up the hall. The moon made its' slow progress across the deep black sky that was blanketed with stars, my only company in the absolute solitude of the night.

I could feel myself drifting, my eyelids beginning to close, limbs heavy and tired. Then my eyes snapped open and I stiffened, listening hard. Someone had opened my door. Slowly, heart beating fast, I turned my head to see Carlos standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his head tilted against it. Half in shadow, he simply watched me, unaware I was awake. The agony in my heart exploded, choking my chest as I stared at the silhouette of his face. He was so close to me I felt I could almost touch him, like holding food just out of reach of a starving man. Unable to stop myself, I raised my head.

"Carlos?," My half-whispered word breaking the silence of the night, my breathing ragged. He pushed off the door frame, turning a little as if he meant to leave. "Carlos..." my voice sounded so weak and forlorn to my own ears, and I shuddered at the pain that was so clear in it.

Almost as if he hadn't consciously decided to, he walked haltingly to the bed, his face blank as he crouched next to my head and took my hand.

"Babe," His voice was hoarse in the silence, fingertips rising to brush my cheek, pale in the moonlight. The touch of his skin sent electricity through my body, the intense joy mixing with an ecstatic pain that seemed to nearly overwhelm me. Standing after a moment, Carlos gently lay down next to me and gathered me into his arms, pressing his face to my hair as I felt the warmth and comfort of his embrace envelope me. I tucked my face into his shoulder, finally feeling peace overcome me as we lay there simply enjoying the feeling of being with each other, the darkness no longer threatening. I felt his lips touch my forehead for a long moment, and his face moved to match mine nose to nose; inches away from each other. I could feel the warmth of his skin as we stayed like that, timeless and exquisite.

"Babe," he said finally, hand moving to cup my cheek. "I missed you."

_It was 2 months, 14 days, 15 hours and 9 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And she was ill._

Chapter titles "Mercy" by OneRepublic.


	13. A Tragedy I Fear

_Chapter 13_

_A Tragedy I Fear_

_April 21, Stephanie's Office_

I sighed, rubbing my tired eyes as the last of the sun dipped below the horizon outside and night fell, the darkness obscuring anything but the fear that had crept into my life, insidious and threatening. I closed the file I had been poring over for the past few hours and stretched, looking at the mess of papers and photos that littered my desk, a half full cup of coffee perching precariously upon the largest pile; the last of the three I had successively made and then forgotten about.

The investigation was not getting very far despite the hours of dedication put in by the guys; and it was starting to show. Tempers were short and a tense expectation had begun to permeate the building. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before we received another message from the killer, whoever he was, and the escalation of his recent activities had us all worrying about what was to come.

Some analysis of the photos we had received a few weeks had revealed exactly where the photo of me crossing the street had been taken, a disused fourth floor apartment a few buildings down from Rangeman. After seizing the CCTV footage from the book store downstairs, we had managed to find our first picture of the guy. The stairwell to the rear interior of the building had been dimly lit and the image was grainy and blurred, but I could clearly discern a man, dressed in a dark jacket and jeans climbing the stairs. I could remember the chill of fear that ran through me as I stared at the image, while I heard the others talking about what they could discern from the blurriness.

"Looks about 6 ft, maybe 6'1?" Lester said, squinting at the photo. "Caucasian male, maybe a little Latino in there, I can't see properly. Shaved head, plus there's a tattoo extending above his collar, possible point of identification." I tuned out the voices of the others as they debated the likelihood of it being a gang tattoo, and trying to discern everything they could from the figure on the stairwell. I simply gazed at the sliver of his face caught on camera, eyes tracing the bag he carried that must have held the camera and telescopic lens he would have needed to make the shot. He had killed and maimed so many women, I thought vacantly, forgetting the others completely until I was alone with my thoughts. He had done so many terrible things and yet... and yet he looked so normal. I don't know what I was supposed to think after being used to dealing with the underbelly of society while working, but the horrendous, atrocious things he'd done... How could it not show? It was as if I was looking for a huge sign and arrow pointing to him saying "Murderer". I just couldn't reconcile it in my mind, the two images I had in my mind of him; common looking man and serial killer.

"Steph?" Lester was looking at me, watching my face intently as I realised he must have been speaking to me.

"Sorry," I looked down, forcing my eyes away from the photograph. "What's next?"

I shook myself a moment, placing the cold coffee out of harm's way and depositing the latest mess of papers onto the rest on my desk. I rubbed my eyes for a moment, mind blissfully blank as I watched the Trenton sunset burst red from the horizon, the whole sky lighting up behind the silhouettes of other buildings as the day came to a close, and another night set in to darken the hearts of those still awake. Leaning back in my chair I rested my eyes shut.

Suddenly I was soaked with freezing water, trying to breathe and fighting to get to the surface of the ocean I had left behind so many days ago. I could feel the paralytic cold creeping into my limbs, numbness spreading as I tried ineffectively to swim up. The waves that tossed me over and over, forcing me under until I couldn't remember which was up. The hopelessness, and clarity; and the endless, bitter pain of the absolute isolation. I couldn't fight anymore. I couldn't win, I couldn't live without him. I could feel my legs stop moving as if of their own accord, as my arms ceased trying to pull myself through the water. I was limp, exhausted. All I could see in my mind's eye was his beautiful face as I floated peacefully through the water once more, waiting for the end.

I jerked forward as my eyes snapped open, choking for breath as my heart raced and tears stung my eyes. I leaned back once more in my chair, closing my eyes as flashes of the dream passed through my mind, as real as if I were living it all over again. It was the overwhelming sense of futility that frightened me most. Not the threat to my life, or the cold or the thought of drowning. Doing what I did for as long as I had meant exposure to the worst of the community. The murderers, the rapists, the people that assaulted their partners or kids. The drive that had occupied my mind for so long was dying, the need to make a difference to the world and bring justice to the victims and their families—I could almost no longer feel it. It hurt too much. I took deep, shaking breaths as I pulled my arms around myself and closed my eyes to the tears. I was frightened. I was frightened that I couldn't find this guy before he hurt more people, frightened that things were changing, frightened at how much I relied on Carlos' support. But what terrified me most, as I sat there in the oppressive darkness of my office, was the last thing I could remember when I was drowning. I had stopped fighting, stopped trying to save my own life.

Not because I couldn't.

But because I no longer wanted to. Death had seemed the preferable alternative to struggling on with life, the infinite peace and oblivion it promised.

And that fact shook me to the core.

0 0 0

_Carlos' Apartment_

I popped the cap off a beer as I sank down on the couch, kicking off my boots and savouring the silence of my apartment for a moment. It had been a day of frustration, short tempers and curt remarks. The investigation was stalled. I held the cold glass of the bottle against my aching head, glad I hadn't turned the lights on in my dim living room. The guy had left nothing for us to find, no leads, no forensics, no messages. There were just so many unanswered questions that spun around my head in an endless, confusing mess.

Why was he doing this? How had he gotten the girls to trust him enough to go with him? Were the attacks random or planned? Did he choose his victims previously or were they just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Why was he playing with us, sending us notes? Why was he now targeting Stephanie? What was he going to do if he got her?

But most importantly, how could I protect her?

I closed my eyes, remembering the scent of her shampoo and the feeling of her soft curls in my hands as I'd kissed her. The tender touch of her lips and the way her body had felt against mine, perfect. I shook myself, taking another long pull on my beer and staring out of the darkened window at the silhouette of the Trenton skyline.

No matter how hard I had tried, nothing had induced my memory to forget that kiss: every sight of her brought back the sensations that had been burned into my mind. I was more attracted to her than I could ever admit to myself let alone anyone else, but I was worried that whatever happened, I wouldn't be able to give her what she needed. I was damaged goods; everything about me screamed that fact. Scars peppered my body, ugly reminders of the life I led and the things I had done. A deformed and discoloured burn covered my lower back, the marks of various surgical incisions and bullet wounds spread across my torso and limbs, knife cuts and stab wounds; the silent witnesses and reminders of memories as painful now as the injuries had been.

I took mouthful of beer until it was nearly empty, swallowing hard. It wasn't just my body that was affected either. I could clearly remember my colonel warning me about this before I signed up for Special Forces. I'd been headstrong and stubbornly determined, without really realising the consequences of my decision. Of course I knew it was very likely I would be killed in action, and I accepted that a long time ago. But I had never considered what effect it would have on my civilian life.

"I'm just telling you son, take a moment and think about whether this is really what you want," he had said, looking at me with concern in his eyes. "You're a brilliant soldier and an asset to the Army, and I would hate to lose you. Being a Ranger... that changes people. I've seen soldiers as gifted as you crack within weeks of deployment, under the stress and demand of the job. The consequences aren't something to be ignored. Even those who come back in one piece; they're changed men. You can see it in their eyes. These are soldiers who have seen too much, things that affect them so much that they shut down all emotion until they become nothing but a shell. They lose their ability to readjust to civilian life, to relate to other people, even their family and partners. You don't just risk death when you're out there; you risk your mind."

I now knew he was right. So much of me had changed since I'd become a Ranger, more than I had anticipated. Each time I returned from a mission, after the mandatory debrief and counselling, the promise of support if I needed it; it got harder to go back to a normal life. For weeks afterwards I would suddenly jerk awake at night, body tense and adrenaline pumping against an unseen attacker. But nothing was ever there but the darkness of my empty bedroom, and the cold sweat that covered my forehead.

I stood slowly and threw the empty beer away, stripping down to my boxers and sinking exhausted onto the bed, not bothering to pull the covers over myself. My eyes closed and I drifted off, a vague feeling of unease in my chest as sleep overtook me.

0 0 0

_You are the light waiting in the dark  
You're real and untouched  
You're the attack waiting for a heart  
Like mine to open up  
_

_The world was stained red as I opened my eyes. The darkness seemed to press in on me and I was suffocating. I knew what would happen. What always happened. My eyes adjusted to the shadows, and bile rose in my throat as I realised what was around me. Bodies._

_They were below me, on top of me, I was buried in the dead; their staring eyes and masks of shock ripping through me as I choked to breathe, fear burning through my body as I stared. Men missing limbs, pools of blood, women still clutching their dead children as they'd been shot. I tried to pull myself up, to get away, to dig myself out but I was trapped._

_I clutched at my head, curling up in a silent scream as they seemed to press closer in on me, begging me to join them. I was being crushed slowly, the weight of death pushing me on all sides, lost and alone and full of an unbearable, unending agony. I took one last breath as I choked, feeling as if I were drowning, struggling to escape._

_You saved the day, flew in like a dove  
I tried to stay up  
I can't believe who lies next to me  
I can't keep my eyes shut _

_And then I was gone. The bodies had disappeared and I was lying on a dusty road, a few derelict huts of mud and straw standing around me. I pulled my body into a sitting position, muscles screaming in protest; more tired than I could ever imagine. There was a figure a few feet away from me, small, like a child's._

_I called out and he turned to me. It was a little boy, maybe five or six, with dirty brown hair and wide eyes that stared at me with a fear that I recognised. His clothes were stained and ragged, hanging off his tiny frame. He looked like he hadn't seen a decent meal in weeks. I beckoned him over, trying to pull myself to my knees._

_Where did you go dear?  
I am alone in here  
I'm running but I'm stuck  
And bleeding from the waist up_

"_Where is your family?" I asked, hoarsely as he took a few hesitant steps in my direction; eyeing me suspiciously._

"_Gone." He said. _

_His voice was thin and cracked like he had not spoken in days. _

"_And your friends?"_

_His lip trembled as he stood there, the haunted look of death burning in his eyes._

"_Gone."_

_Painstakingly, I pulled myself up to stand on my shaking legs._

"_Where is your house?"_

"_Gone."_

_The way he looked at me, those eyes that had seen far, far too much. The cold fire of a loss that just doesn't stop. When you have nothing left, when everything that was your world was destroyed. I drew a ragged breath, the grit of the dust catching in the back of my throat making me cough._

_He just watched me from a few feet away, as if he hadn't seen another person in weeks. I took a staggering step forward and overbalanced, falling hard to my knees, trying to stop myself from crying out in pain._

_I looked up to see the boy had taken a few steps away from me, his eyes wide with fear, body trembling. There was something in his hand, that he raised to show me, almost tentatively. The gun shook in his hands as tears began to leak from his eyes, his sobs making me wish I could just pick him up and pull him close and make it all go away._

_But this kid had been fighting for too long. It was the only way he could have survived. His face was strangely blank as he stood there, not really understanding what he was doing._

_His head cocked to the side for a moment as he looked at me, a sort of innocent curiosity on his face._

"_Now you are gone too."_

_And he fired._

_I can't get up  
You are a fire, burning in the sea  
I swim in your heat  
We are a choir singing hymns to keep  
The widow's mind at ease  
Take me there  
Take me where you are_

My eyes snapped open as I felt hands on my shoulders and I instinctively pushed my attacked across the room, shouting as I fought other hands that tried to hold me down. Bodiless fingers that gripped my limbs tightly as I writhed and yelled, trying desperately to escape whatever situation I was in. Adrenaline screamed through my veins and my muscles tensed as I lashed out again, the satisfying sounds of men stumbling and falling around me reaching my ears

"Carlos?"

A different voice, a woman's voice rang through the cacophony of noise that seemed to assault me. I couldn't stop fighting, I couldn't give up my life, not now I had something, someone to live for.

"Carlos!"

Something had caught my arm and was holding it fast as a sharp prick pierced my arm.

"Carlos! It's ok, I'm here!"

My brain began to fog as I felt the drug creep through my system and my assaults weaken as my body betrayed me. I tried to talk but nothing came out but a groan, and I started to feel heavy and groggy.

"I'm here, Carlos," The voice said again, and the smell of Stephanie's perfume wafted over me as cool hands gripped mine. "I've got you."

_We are a choir singing hymns to keep  
The widow's mind at ease_

_0 0 0_

_It was 2 months, 8 days, 16 hours and 35 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And Stephanie was anxious._

0 0 0

Just a present for you guys, sorry for the delay—I promise I've already started the next chapter. Lyrics in this chapter were Real and Untouched by Kisschasey. Chapter Titles are Mercy by OneRepublic.

Pleasepleaseplease review!

Schaefy


	14. How Did You Pick Me Up Again?

_**Chapter 14**_

_**How Did You Pick Me Up Again?**_

_4:53am, April 21._

_Carlos' Apartment_

My eyes were dry and heavy when I finally awoke and I could sense that a couple of hours had passed. The darkness in the room was now punctuated by the grey light of early morning that struggled beyond the clouds outside the window, and I could hear the quiet hum of the first cars moving around the street below. Normal people, living normal lives and working normal jobs. Not haunted by the things they had seen to the point of insomnia, not plagued by fears of what the future would hold, or the anguish that they could never have the one thing they wanted in life. Just existing.

"Carlos?" A quiet voice interrupted my half-formed thoughts.

Images flashed through my mind—memories that spoke of vague and undistinguished desperation that pulled me under. Bodies. Blood. The blind struggle. The panic of the night before.

And her voice

I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing the images back until I was in control of myself. I could almost feel her staring at me from the armchair next to the window. When I finally met her gaze, her face was pale and drawn, dark shadows ringing eyes that looked dull and exhausted. Remnants of a sleepless vigil.

"Babe?" I asked, struggling to pull myself onto my elbows_ and trying to ignore the persistent pounding in my head_. She managed a small smile for me, standing up to come and sit on the side of my bed and touching her hand to my cheek.

"How are you feeling? You had me worried last night." Shadowy recollections of what had happened whirled around my groggy mind, indistinct and intangible.

"What happened?"

"I let myself in to drop off some police reports; I knew you'd had a rough day and I didn't want to disturb you. When I put them on the sideboard I heard you yelling in your sleep. You were worse than I've seen in the past. You fought me off when I tried to help, you weren't listening and you wouldn't wake up. I was so worried..."

Her eyes closed as she sighed, rubbing away the tear that had fallen to her cheek. Unable to help myself, I cupped her face in my hand__and gently wiped the tears away with the pad of my thumb. She unconsciously leaned into my hand, and I revelled in the feel of her skin under my fingers.

She took a deep, wavering breath. "I called the Control Room and got Tank, Bobby and Lester up here to help me. You were pretty agitated."

Absent-mindedly, she moved her hand to rub her arm where it was covered by a large shirt that looked one of like mine. I felt a shiver down my spine and nausea burned in my stomach as I slowly reached up to pull the sleeve away from the place she had touched. Clearly discernable on her pale skin, dark purple bruising wrapped around her arm in the shape of a handprint that could only have been made by me. The way she held her arm close to her body to prevent it being jostled, and the warmth of the mark under my fingertips that slowly brushed over it showed me how much I had hurt her.__

I swallowed the bile that had risen to my mouth and turned my eyes away in disgust.

"It's nothing, rea—" Her lie was cut off by my swift glare, burning with the anger and revulsion I felt for myself. How could I have done this? I had sworn to myself I would protect her from everything. From the threats. From the job we did. From the people we hunted. I stared over her shoulder, teeth clenched. Turns out it's not them she needs protecting from.

"Carlos. This is _not _your fault," she said fiercely, taking my hand even as I moved it away from her and trying to get me to look at her. "You were having a nightmare. You didn't know what you were doing. I don't blame you." Her eyes were imploring, her hand firmly gripped mine. "So don't blame yourself."

"Are there any others?"

She shook her head, anxiously watching my expression. Well, that was something at least.

"You're not to come in here alone again when I'm asleep," I said tersely. My words came out sharper than intended as I avoided her eyes to try and mask my shame. The guilt wound tighter in my chest when I glanced up to see she had shifted away from me, eyes closed tight.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes again. Somehow, I had managed to make things even worse. Remorse welled up inside me. I didn't know what I could do to make it right; it seemed like there was no solution. I was torn between two impossibilities that were similarly beautiful and terrifying.

Taking her hand again from where I'd left it on the bed, I pulled her towards me, urging her to come and lie beside me. I held her tight to me as she settled her head on my chest and I felt the tension ease out of my shoulders. My eyes drifted shut as I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, the scent of her hair like a drug.__

"I'm sorry Babe, that wasn't fair." I pulled her closer for a second, trying to show her how sorry I was. "I just want you to be safe, ok? I—" I put my head close to hers and felt the softness of her skin against my lips. "I need you to be safe," I whispered more to myself than to her.

She nodded in assent from where she lay, one hand curled up against her chest and the other stretching over mine to settle on my shoulder. My breath hitched as her fingers gently moved over my chest. I couldn't help but pull her closer to me, possessive, and move my own hand to brush through her hair. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest and her breath coming faster as she moved her fingers to run, feather-light against my stubbled cheek_. _A groan left me as I shut my eyes tight, clenching my jaw in acute restraint_._ She felt so good –far too good– against me and I wasn't sure how much longer I could control myself. I knew that anything that happened between us would have consequences, no matter how incredible it was at the time. It would force a change that I wasn't sure either of us was ready for, and I wasn't going to run the risk of losing her now I'd realised how much I needed her. She cared for me like no one else, was self-denying and generous in the way she helped me, and had never hesitated to hurt herself in order to protect me, but it was much more than that. So much more. It was something inexplicable; something deep and primal. We just seemed to click; to complement each other in a way that I had never found with anyone else, and the thought of sacrificing that was too much to bear thinking about. I needed nothing else but her in the world to be as close as I could to being happy.

There was never a choice. If I'd believed in destiny, I would have said it was something like that. We just seemed to gravitate to each other; we needed each other in order to function. At that moment all I needed, so desperately, was to be close to her. It wasn't a rational or conscious decision; it wasn't something I could control. I was just tired of fighting to keep her at arms' length, far enough away to ensure she would stay, but denying myself what I needed so much it hurt.

I could feel my hand moving of its own accord to her chin, pulling it up so she was eye to eye with me. Her face was very close to mine, her breath coming softly through parted lips, her eyes had closed. I knew I shouldn't do this, that I was jeopardising everything we had together: but I wasn't thinking of the past or the future, about working together, or where to go from here. All I could think of was the here and now.

I leaned closer, hesitant, until my lips barely brushed hers.

She was motionless in my arms for a long moment, eyes closed and unresponsive.

Then, simultaneously, we reached for each other; her hand pulling my head closer and my arms pressing her to me as we lay there. I could sense the__desperation welling up inside both of us as we clutched at each other. My hands moved quickly over her, as if trying to memorise the way she felt in a moment that could be snatched away at any second. I was kissing her recklessly, pulling her too tight against me as I abandoned all pretence of emotional distance and merely let myself feel.

It was simply an expression of despair— a vain attempt to taste something forbidden–for however brief a second. I felt her tears and the catch of a sob in her chest as she pulled me into a bruising kiss, despondent and hopeless. And yet it was the most beautiful thing I had ever felt, so full of conflicting emotions and feelings I couldn't even try to understand it. Even as I revelled in the moment I could feel the inevitable end drawing closer. Every moment I spent grasping at the last, trying to prolong the sensations, the closeness, was a moment that took me nearer to the point of no return. There was a cliff lurking in front of me, threatening my spiral descent into a world I had no right to be in. I couldn't be with her. It was for her own good. The longer I held her now, the harder it would be to pull away from her later.

I gritted my teeth and pulled away, agony piercing my heart at the absolute desolation of her tear-stained face. I tried to wipe the emotion from my face, to shield her from confirmation of her feelings; but keeping my hands from her was using all my willpower.

"Don't..." her voice was choked and broken, looking up at me imploringly in a way that seemed to redouble the pain in my heart. "Don't tell me you don't want this. It's not true, I know it's not."

Those few words, the absolute certainty in her words and the fragility that came through her brittle voice came so close to tearing my resolve to shreds. Forcing myself to remember why I was doing this, I pulled myself together, telling myself that I was doing the right thing, that this was best for her. Somehow, I wasn't so sure anymore.

"Don't, don't tell me that... don't say it. Please, just don't..." she whispered to herself, voice cracking. Her hands clutched at my shirt in desperation as she gazed intently into my eyes.

She was pleading with me, begging me not to tear us apart again, not to crush her heart like I had before. I knew things couldn't go back to the way they had been; too much had changed between us.

But I knew we couldn't go further than this.

With a phenomenal effort and all my willpower, I pulled her close to me; folding her tightly to my chest and tucking her head under mine as she cried. She shook uncontrollably as her sobs increased, each one tearing at my heart a little more. The tears soaked my shirt as she realised what I had chosen. I pressed a kiss to her hair and rocked her gently as she cried, her hands against my chest as she tried to push me away, to salvage what she could of her dignity and leave before I had a chance to hurt her more. But I held on to her until she just gave in and collapsed against me_**.**_

"I'm sorry Babe. I'm so sorry_,_" I whispered again and again. But she couldn't hear my voice over her own misery, the loss of what could have been. All she could do was try to escape before I broke her heart any more.

All I wanted to do was tell her over and over how much I loved her – how much I needed her – and beg her to forgive me for all the times I had hurt her. I wanted to swear I would never leave her, that I would do anything for her, to protect her. But I couldn't be what she needed. What had just happened was only the result of her effect on me and my weakness for her. It had destroyed my resolve and created a brief moment in time in which I was helpless not to take whatever I could have of her love. I knew what I had done was hurting her more than anything, but if that meant I saved her from a greater disappointment later, that's what I would do. I loved her too much to expose her to that possibility. Her disappointment in me would be the one thing I could never stand.

I just held her to me for whatever brief moment I had with her, stroking her hair and whispering to her in Spanish the words that I could never say to her.

0 0 0

_It was 2 months, 9 days, 11 hours and 18 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And her heart was in pieces._

0 0 0

Quick Note: Thank you a million times over to Becleigh (_Svendances_) for betaing this chapter: for putting up with my excessive use of 'could', my repeated attempts to begin a sentence with 'but' and some _really_ bad phrasing.

To readers: Please review! Hundreds of people read each chapter and only a tiny percentage actually review.

It's the only payment I get, and I would love to hear from you :)

Schaefy


	15. How Did You Move Me?

_**Chapter 15**_

_**How Did You Move Me?**_

_6:56 am, April 21._

_Stephanie's Apartment, Rangeman_

The shrill tone of the phone beside my bed woke me after half an hour of restless and unsatisfying sleep. My eyes were sore and bloodshot from crying and my head was aching. But more than that, I just felt dull. I had no desire to answer, to talk to people, to get up and do things and come home at the end of the day. I just wanted peace, to sleep, and forget everything for a while; even though I knew I would eventually have to face it.

I turned over, ignoring the ringing that echoed on and on in my pounding head, and pulled my pillow over my face, wishing that just for a while the world would leave me alone.

Unfortunately, the world had other plans.

Five minutes later Lester was banging on my door, yelling at me to get up. I shouted some choice words back at him until he picked the locks, barged in and started throwing clothes at me.

"Come on, we've gotten a package in the post."

I groaned, uncomprehending. "I'm so happy for you. Go away," I said, pulling a pillow over my face again as Lester ripped open the curtains and the bright early morning light assaulted my eyes.

"It's from the rapist."

I sat up, stunned. "What's in it?"

"We haven't opened it yet; only got it a few minutes ago. It's gone down to be scanned. Should be almost finished, so get moving."

Completely forgetting my former indifference of only the minute before, I rolled out of bed to pull on a pair of black jeans and a hoodie, and grabbed my boots as I dashed out the door and into the elevator.

The conference room was empty except for Carlos, Tank and Bobby, who were talking quietly as we entered. I could see Carlos looked worn down and pale, his face creased with worry and but totally focused. The others' expressions spoke of the same anxiety, though to the untrained eye little would have been discernible. Only years of experience told me what to look for to decipher their moods.

They looked up as we entered, and I saw Carlos' eyes rest on my face for a moment before continuing to Lester. My heart sank but I forced myself to keep my eyes up while wishing I could just get as far away from him as possible.

Lester, on the other hand, with no such inhibition, left me standing hesitantly in the doorway as he strode quickly toward them.

"Well?" His demand was clear.

"Nothing threatening."

I walked over to the table, avoiding Tank's watchful eyes, pulled on a pair of gloves and gently lifted the small slit that had been cut into the packet. It was mostly empty; no note, no message, no photos. I opened it further, and saw it contained a mobile phone. Nausea welled in my stomach as I removed it from the bag and held it up. It was perfectly ordinary, a cheap prepaid phone with a functioning SIM card. There were no calls in the log, no texts in the inbox and no numbers listed in the phonebook. It was empty, as if it had just been bought.

I looked at the others.

"What do you think?" I said. "It's functional—it can send and receive calls and messages but it looks new. Obviously not from a victim, then."

"I think it's something else," said Bobby, his eyebrows creased. "If it's not from a victim, then he must have bought it. In light of that, I would say that he wants to get in contact with us at some point. Sending us a means is easier than trying to hack into our records to get the teams' individual phone numbers."

I nodded. "Plus, this gives him an edge; makes him feel like he's calling the shots. I think he'll let us sweat over it for a while— he won't call us immediately. That way he knows we'll be stressing about trying to figure out what his next move will be so we can be ready for it. That sort of thing would excite him," I added as an afterthought, holding a UV light to the phone as I spoke. "No fingerprints or bloodstains, but we should send it to the lab just in case. He's been meticulous so far, I don't see why he should slip up now. How was it delivered?"

"Private courier," Carlos said, staring at a point somewhere over my left shoulder. "Source was a conglomerate company of different franchises, any of which could have sent this. There's no way of tracing it back to him."

"Well what about the phone itself? Assuming he wants anonymity he probably bought it somewhere where a lot of people go, that would be difficult to trace. A gas station? Electronic store chain? Walmart? The number should be registered on a database though, and it's likely the phone and SIM were bought together. If we can pinpoint when he was in the store, we can pull some CCTV and hopefully get a better look at him."

Tank flipped his phone open and spoke quietly to Silvio, while I examined the phone again with the others looking on.

"We'll get the lab guys to have a look at it up here. I want to keep it close, and operational at all times," said Carlos, voice hard. "In the mean time, let's break for a while and reconvene in an hour. We need to discuss what he might be planning. He's made a move, and this is our opportunity to make sure he slips up."

Everyone murmured their assent and moved to file out of the room. I got up too, about to follow Tank when I heard my name.

"Babe?" His voice was soft, hesitant. I felt the lump rise in my throat and my breathing hitched. He had said that to me a thousand ways; angry, worried, wryly, teasing, loving. A painful reminder of simpler times.

I turned, struggling to pull my eyes up to look at him_. _When I met his gaze his face was gaunt, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Deep shadows lingered under eyes that looked dark and hopeless, and his movements were slow and painful; as if his whole body was giving in. A day's growth of beard darkened his jaw making him look even more handsome and dangerous than usual. My heartbeat quickened and I swallowed hard.

"Yes?" my voice cracked. The room was deserted now; Tank had discreetly closed the door behind himself. The silence stretched, stifling. All I could hear was my own quiet breathing in the oppressive silence.

"I..." He seemed unsure of what to say, but the lines of his face were tight and worried. I refused to look at him. My eyes closed for a moment as he struggled to find the words, and I started to turn away from him. Watching him try to find the words to reach me made the ache in my chest intensify tenfold, and my fists clenched as I fought to keep myself together.

"Babe?" he repeated, his hand moving to catch my arm and prevent me from leaving. He stopped short though, fingers closing on air, unsure if he should touch me or not.

If I'd had any tears left, they would have fallen, but now I was just tired. I was tired of the hurt and anger and the futility of continuing to fight for what I wanted. It was so difficult to believe that there was an escape from this situation, that one day things would be the way they should be. My life was full of so much sadness that I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be happy. A good day, for me, wasn't contentment or fulfilment or conventional happiness. It was the wry satisfaction of keeping my head above water; the ability to persevere for another day. To survive the muck we dealt with, the things we saw, the people we met. Whether it was victims, or their families, or the perpetrators themselves; it all hurt in different ways. Work this job long enough and you eventually stop feeling. You're so full of the excruciating pain and futility and desperation of the people you deal with that you just can't deal with any more. Do this for long enough, and happiness becomes a foreign concept; something that happens to other people, normal people. Not to me. And so you stop fighting, and resign yourself to the disappointment that was like poison inside.

Seeing Carlos still struggling against this just made me feel worse. It hurt so much to be so distant from him. To be unable to hold him when I needed him, or he needed me, to not see his smile that lit the room or the look of love that had burned in his eyes not so long ago.

It wasn't there now, I saw. His eyes were black, and hurting.

I turned and walked through the door.

Away from him.

0 0 0

When I returned to my apartment I showered absentmindedly, forgoing make up and tying my wet hair into a haphazard pony tail. I pulled on my Rangeman uniform, leaving my boots unlaced, and returned to the break room to get breakfast. Tank watched as I sat down next to him holding a cup of coffee and a bagel I didn't particularly want. Hunger seemed to have deserted me in the past few hours.

I slowly pulled it apart in my fingers, forgetting Tank was there until he spoke in his deep, rumbling voice.

"Deep thoughts?" My eyes snapped up, startled. Tank smiled a little as I relaxed back into my seat, and continued to tear the bread apart. Nobody knew how I felt about Carlos, and I sure as hell wasn't going to put it out there for gossip.

"You look tired this morning," he said, probing.

I didn't say anything. I wanted to talk about as much as I wanted to go to the dentist.

"So did Carlos," Tank continued, his eyes scrutinising my face. I looked up for a moment, uncomfortable.

"Did he have another nightmare after we came in last night?"

I shook my head a little, pushing the plate of crumbs away from me and taking a sip of coffee to keep myself busy enough to avoid his questions.

Tank watched my expression for a while, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

"He said something stupid, then. Hurt you in some way." His jaw tightened as I refused to bring my eyes to meet his, confirming his suspicions. Sighing deeply, he pulled me into a bear hug and tucked me close."Carlos can be a bit of an ass when it comes to you. He's so convinced he's doing the right thing for you that he can't see how much he hurts you."

I nodded into his shoulder, not trusting my voice to speak.

"He loves you very much, you know," Tank said quietly in my ear. I let out a small hiccup and shut my eyes tight, feeling the lump in my throat welling up again. "I've never seen him look at a woman the same way as he looks at you. You are one of the very few people he trusts with his life_. _It's more than that though. He trusts you with his weaknesses. He wouldn't let just anyone see him vulnerable, and for him to seek you out for comfort and help is... well, a testament of his feelings for you."

He pulled back, his brown eyes soft and reassuring as he gently wiped the tears away from my cheeks. I tried to give him a smile, but my heart wasn't in it.

0 0 0

Half an hour later we were gathered in the conference room that had slowly become the hub of the investigation: pin boards full of notes and thoughts about connections, lists of evidence, phone call transcripts and a profile of all the victims. A timeline stretched along one wall marked with the dates, times and locations of the victims, a macabre reminder of what we were dealing with. Crime scene photos adorned the other wall, circles indicating the victims' slashes and other important injuries.

The day had dawned grey and overcast much like the mood inside the building, and the light shining through the windows was muted. I was sitting at the table, head against the back of the chair and eyes closed as Lester and Bobby came in to stand near me, and Carlos and Tank turned from where they had been talking quietly to join the rest of us. The phone lay in the centre of the table, untouched.

"Anything from the lab?" Carlos' voice was sharp and tired, much like I felt.

"No." I shook my head, and rubbed my eyes in an attempt to wipe away my exhaustion. "They couldn't fingerprint parts of the battery and the SIM card because they couldn't be removed in order to keep the phone working, but the rest of the phone was clean. No bloodstains, no fingerprints, no hair, no nothing." Bobby sighed and Lester sank down in a chair, the frustration evident. No matter how hard we tried, we just couldn't seem to get a fix on this guy.

"Silvio's trying to track the SIM cards registration number, but he has to make sure he stays under the radar. Coupled with the size of the databases he's searching, we probably won't get the info for a few days." Tank said.

Carlos turned to face the panel of windows looking out at the dark sky, huge grey storm clouds ominously threatening rain as he watched.

"Ok, so nothing there yet. What about motives? Why do this? He must know that every time he makes a move like this he gives us information about himself whether he likes it or not—he risks slipping up. There must be some reason then, something that makes it worthwhile." Bobby said, trying to stay upbeat.

Carlos spoke quietly as rain began to patter against the windows, and the soft sound of drops filled the room. "He's clearly after Stephanie; but he sent the last note to me."

"Revenge against you? Because she's part of the investigation? Or did he simply choose her?"

We spent hours that morning trying to divine answers from the small amount of information we had, with little success. Questions whirled around in my head as I listened to theory after theory that tried to explain the past and predict the future. But nothing made sense; no single conjecture fitted all the missing elements together. It was almost eleven by the time Tank held up his hand to halt Bobby and Lester's heated discussion about motives.

"Look, we're getting nowhere here. Whatever happens when he calls, we've done it all before. For now, let's try and get ready for whatever's coming. Get some sleep, eat, and try to relax. Arguing back and forth is not doing any good."

0 0 0

It was a day of waiting. Tension hung like an oppressive cloud of silence over the control room. I dozed in a chair for a while as people came in and out, spoke, wrote things, called others. I remained in my chair, unresponsive, leaning my head on my arms. Around noon a team was dispatched to a break in at an account, and I watched as Bobby ran the operation from the Comm. Room. The alarm was soon reset and the occupants notified, and the team returned mid afternoon.

Things settled more as evening fell and the Control Room emptied of men, the quiet sound of voices and movement fading with the sun. I remained there, waiting with a sense of inevitability for whatever was going to happen.

Bobby handed me a protein shake as midnight closed in on us, and the next shift came to take watch through the night. He sat with me to keep me company for a while as the Comm. Room quieted again, making sure I drank the whole glass and looking satisfied when I downed the last of it.

"How're you feeling?"

I shrugged, putting the glass back on the table. "You talked to Tank?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded. "Look, Steph—" He was interrupted by the shrill tone of the cell phone lying on the table beside me.

I sat up, suddenly alert as the Comm. Room seemed to wake up and mobilise. Everything was happening fast: Tank and Carlos appeared as Lester manned the tracing equipment, and started to record the call, motioning to us when he was ready.

Carlos' eyes caught and held mine for a moment, the burning intensity of his gaze making my heart stutter. It never deviated from mine as he pressed a button on the phone, and we waited in tense silence.

"Hello Rangeman, nice to finally speak to you." The voice was deep and unmistakably a man's: I couldn't hear a discernible accent, maybe Jersey, maybe not. It sent a shiver down my spine though. The cold calculation was clear even then, and it was obvious that this was not someone to be trifled with. There was no mercy, no feeling in his voice other than superiority and perverse satisfaction. He was a man that was certainly capable of everything he promised; a psychopath, a sadist. I swallowed the revulsion and closed my eyes for a moment, when, to my surprise, I felt Carlos' warm hand envelope mine. I didn't think he was even aware he was doing it, he was so focussed on the call, but I gripped it tightly as I fought to keep my emotions in check.

"So," Carlos said, voice icy and tight. "What did you want to say to us."

Soft laughter came from the other end of the line. "I just wanted to speak to you. Say hello. It's common courtesy, you know," he said quietly.

Carlos' jaw twitched, but he said nothing, simply looking at Lester to check whether he had gotten a fix yet. He shook his head, motioning us to keep him talking.

"Do you have a name?" Carlos said, tersely.

"Yes," he simply replied.

Carlos' jaw tightened infinitesimally as he forced himself to remain in control, gripping my hand hard. Any smart man would know never to push Carlos, especially when lives were at stake. Especially when the lives of people he loved were at stake.

There was a momentary pause as we waited.

"Harper. You can call me Harper."

"And what is it you want?" Carlos repeated, his patience wearing thin.

"Is Stephanie there? I would like to speak to her."

"I'm here." My voice was calm and emotionless though my heart was pounding in my chest and cold sweat was starting to bead on my forehead.

"I'll see you very soon, Stephanie. I hope you're looking forward to it. I am." His voice rose with an excitement that made me feel like I was going to wretch. I took some deep breaths, choking back the bile.

"Why are you doing this?" I forced out, my hand clenching around Carlos' as he pulled me close to him. Lester gave a low whistle to attract our attention and gave the thumbs up: we'd found him.

"Why?" Harper paused for a moment, as if considering his answer, oblivious to the news. "For fun, Stephanie."

He was silent for a beat.

"Why else?"

Dial tone.

I stood there in shock for a moment, the room silent as we took in what had happened. Then I ran for the bathroom, making it just in time to get rid of dinner. I coughed and choked as blinding, crippling fear burned through me, obliterating everything save the dread of what I felt was sure to happen. Soft hands pulled me up when I started to cry, slumped against the toilet, and helped me rinse my mouth before pulling me into a man's chest. The familiar scent of his shower gel told me it was Carlos. He tucked me into his shoulder and just let me cry as we stood there, the familiar feeling of his touch little comfort to me at that point after last night_._

"Babe," he said after I had calmed a little, and pulled away to try and get myself together. "We've triangulated his position from the cell towers around where the call was made. He's down by the river, in an old industrial district. Two teams are suiting up; we're heading down to the Bronco's now." He tucked a curl behind my ear, capturing and holding my eyes with his.

"I need you to stay here, Babe," he whispered softly, paralysing me with the intensity of his gaze.

"What..." I uttered, not really comprehending what he was saying. His hands found my waist and pulled me closer as his forehead came to rest on mine, expression pleading.

"Please, Babe. I have to know you're safe." The emotion was raw in his voice as it broke on the last word, piercing my heart.

My voice wouldn't come with him so close, even though he was waiting for my answer.

"Please, Babe. I couldn't stand it...I can't let him get to you."

"Don't..." I said on a sob, fisting my hands in his shirt, trying desperately to try and keep him with me. "Don't go out. Or let me come with you." He shook his head even as he felt the wetness of the tears on my cheek.

"Babe—"

"Don't. I have to come, I have to know—" I was getting desperate, hitting his chest, scared out of my mind as sobs came unrestrained. The thought of having to hear that he was injured, or captured, or killed... that I would never be able to see his face again was too much to ask of me. Never being able to see the softness in his eyes as he looked at me, or hear his laugh, or remember the way his lips felt on mine. I needed him too much, so much that it terrified me. My hands hit flat on his chest as I collapsed against it, exhausted, sobs still coming thick and fast as his arms tightened around me and I felt his lips against my hair.

"Please don't make me stay behind," I said quietly against his chest, looking up to see his face. "Please."

He closed his eyes as I spoke the last word, a flicker of the pain I was feeling breaking through his blank face, and tucked me into his shoulder.

I sobbed unrestrainedly as he pressed a long kiss to my forehead, wrapping my arms around his neck and refusing to let go as he tried to pull away.

"Don't, please, don't do this again—"

His lips were close to my ear as I felt his arm move from around me.

"I love you, Stephanie," he murmured, lips close to my ear as he crushed me closer. "Stay safe," he whispered before I felt the touch of the cold metal of the stun gun to my skin and I dropped limp in his arms.

_It was 2 months, 8 days, 18 hours and 32 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And Carlos had betrayed her._

0 0 0

Chapter Titles 'Mercy' by OneRepublic.

What do you think Steph's reaction will be when she wakes and finds Carlos gone? And what will happen when they get to where Harper was? Let me know what you think is going to happen!

4000 words for this chapter: new record! Plus: chapter 11 has been reposted as a songfic chapter (you know how I love them), because the song I found was just so incredibly perfect for it. You should go and check it out.

As always, thanks a million to my amazing beta _Svendances. _And please please please review.

Schaefy


	16. Why Am I On My Feet Again?

_Chapter 16_

_Why Am I On My Feet Again?_

_11:36pm, April 21._

_North Trenton._

The silence of the city was almost preternatural as we sped away from Rangeman. No one was talking. Occasional sounds of guns being checked and holstered, adjustment of position or gear were the only noises that interrupted the stillness. Three teams were being deployed to investigate Harper's position.

I sat in the passenger seat of the first Bronco next to Tank who was behind the wheel; with Bobby, Zero and Hal in the backseat. Despite my evident frustration, Tank had refused point blank to let me drive even as I scowled at him. He simply challenged me with a look that said quite clearly that he knew my emotions were not in check. I was taking this too personally, and that was going to get myself or one of the men hurt or killed.

The unnatural orange light that flooded the empty streets cast impenetrable shadows over the many alleyways and darkened shops making me tense and uneasy.

The image of Stephanie falling backwards into my arms as I stunned her replayed over and over in my mind, like some terrible omen. Her look of horror and betrayal as she realised what I was doing ate at my heart like a cancer that couldn't be ignored. I tried to convince myself it had been for her, to protect her, but I knew deep down that wasn't true. It was for me.

Sick fear filled me when I imagined what could happen to her; how she could be snatched away from me in the blink of an eye was far too much for me to even think about letting her out somewhere I was not sure she was completely safe. Sure, I had felt fear before; when I was younger, before I had become a Ranger. Sometimes, I had feared for my life; for the consequences of actions, my own or otherwise. I had feared for others, feared the inevitability of my own mortality, the desolation and futility that seemed to fill me sometimes. I had feared for my family and the few people I called friends. But nothing had ever come half as close to the fear I felt now.

It was appalling, terrifying, threatening to overcome me at any moment. The thought of a life without Stephanie, without her smile or laugh or the way her blue eyes met mine, was so impossible that my whole being rebelled against it.

If betraying her trust meant I could keep her safe, then that was the choice I would make every time, no matter how much she might hate me later.

At least she would be alive.

0 0 0

The drive was mercifully short. It wasn't long before Tank was pulling into an industrial estate car park a few buildings over from where we had gotten the signal. Teams organised themselves and the plan was finalised. With a nod to Tank and Bobby who were leading the other teams we moved out, sticking close to the shadows cast by the floodlights that were posted at intervals on the chain-link fence. A light rain had started to fall, the evening was humid and close—the first indicators of summer making the night uncomfortable and uneasy.

As soon as we hit the ground the teams were moving, fanning out and taking up position. Bobby motioned towards the largest warehouse fifty metres away from us. Its large roller door was open, a broken lock and chain lying discarded beneath it. I nodded to him. There was a good chance this was where he was.

The teams split, Tank's moving around the side of the building to cover the secondary roller door, and Bobby's covering the side entrance. Two clicks over the radio; they were ready. Silence was vital in an operation of this calibre; getting caught because you were heard whispering instructions into a radio was just stupid. We used the military code we had all used in the past to ensure we made the most of the cover of darkness and the element of surprise.

One long click. Countdown begins.

Three clicks,

Two,

One.

Go.

Flicking my night vision goggles over my eyes I began to move into the darkness via the main door, feeling the rest of my team moving close behind me. I had my rifle ready on my shoulder, but even with the goggles, I could see very little. Crates and equipment filled the room creating a maze out of the vast space: corridors lined by cargo containers, piles of rubbish and discarded metal. A ripple of unease shivered through me as I tried to cover all the angles, keeping my eyes wide and painfully alert, but there were too many dark corners, vantage points and shadows for me to be sure we were reasonably safe. Adrenaline had my heart pumping and my muscles tensed to spring, but the gloom was ominously quiet.

I clicked to the other team leaders, relieved when I got the all clear from Bobby and Tank. Anxiety hummed in the back of my mind, an incessant and persistent worry that seemed just below the surface. Something wasn't right. It had been too easy to get to this point. Harper had called, but had neither asked nor received anything remotely important. I carefully moved through the paths carved out of the huge cargo crates and piles of indistinguishable metal, leading with my rifle and clearing each intersection cautiously before moving through.

So what then?

_The night is cold,_

_The stars are bright,_

_Out of mind_

_Is out of sight._

0 0 0

I let out a small groan and pulled a hand to cover my face when I awoke, head throbbing, tothe sound of quiet voices outside the room I was in. My eyes were dry and heavy as I struggled to open them, feeling as if I was only half awake. When I managed to look around myself, I found I was lying on the couch in Carlos' office, a blanket covering my body and my boots standing neatly next to the end. Ella.

I lay back for a moment, trying to remember what had happened. I was still so tired that my eyes were itching just to close again and surrender to the darkness, but something half-remembered was struggling to break through to my consciousness. I had the strongest feeling that I needed to be awake, that something was happening that was so, so important to me. Memories flashed in front of my eyes, uncomprehending. Showering that morning. Tank's concerned expression as he looked at me. Sitting in the conference room watching Carlos' stiff back as he tried to avoid looking at me.

Broken images of a bathroom and the smell of Carlos as he enveloped me in his arms.

I sat up, choking as I coughed, eyes flying wide open.

Carlos!

He had stunned me. He'd left me here alone. He'd gone out to wherever Harper was—he had put himself in danger.

Flinging the blanket off me haphazardly, I ripped through the door of Carlos' office and dashed to the Control Room to see Lester speaking into a headset as he bent over one of the monitors.

Whenever a team was deployed, one of the senior employees was charged with staying behind to coordinate the response, facilitate communications and ensure the safety of those who were out in the field as much as possible. I was on him before they had even noticed I had entered the room, grabbing his collar and yanking him up and around to face me. My hands fisted in the front of his shirt, and despite the obvious size and weight difference, he had the sense of mind to look a little afraid.

"Where is he?" I hissed, not caring that my voice was breaking even as I spoke. "Tell me where he is." I said giving him a shake when he hesitated a moment. "Tell me, or I swear to God I'll make your life hell."

"Steph," he said, obviously trying to calm me as he brought his hands around to try and unfurl my fingers from around his shirt. "Steph, listen—"

"No!" I yelled, tears falling unnoticed as I tried to push him away. "No! Tell me where he is!" But Lester's hands around mine were like iron. He held me easily as I tried to get away from him.

"Relax, Stephanie, or I'll get Cal to stun you again. I mean it." His eyes were firm as he spoke, and I knew he would go through with his threat.

Tears choked me as my efforts to escape weakened and panic welled up in my chest. "Lester, what if something happens? What if something goes wrong? Oh God..." I sank down to my knees and hugged my arms around myself, trying to stay in control as my breathing neared hyperventilation. "I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this..." I muttered to myself, running hands through my hair until it pulled to the point of pain.

The ground disappeared beneath me, worried voices registering vaguely as my breath hitched and I stared at nothing. I couldn't feel, or see, or think anything but the fact that I was sure Carlos was in danger. And that he'd left me. I had pleaded with him, I had urged over and over for him to stay with me.

Gone were my dignity and sense of self-worth, and the pretence that we were nothing more than friends; but it hadn't mattered to him. Carlos was so adamant that he wanted me to be safe that he hadn't realised that there was more to it than that. If the definition of alive was simply to have a functioning physical form, then of course, he had virtually ensured my preservation. What he didn't realise however was that _he _was part of my life now. I had given him my heart whether he wanted it or not, and risking his life had become risking my own as well. The thought of living in a world where he was absent made me feel empty and numb inside, so shocking and just...horrendous.

Soft cushions met me as someone laid me down on a couch again, and a cool wash cloth dabbed at my forehead. I heard Ella's voice somewhere in the distance, worried, and Lester's indistinguishable reply. I turned my head to the wall, unresponsive.

I just couldn't deal with this.

_Darkness is blinding,_

_I've lost my way,_

_If you just promise me,_

_It'll be ok._

0 0 0

The glint of light in the gloom ahead caught my attention, and I motioned for my team to stick close to the side of the shipping crates that formed the walls of the maze around us before moving toward it. It was _maybe _a hundred metres away, and I could feel sweat trickling down my back as we inched toward it, tension and frustration building in my chest. Only years of practice and iron control kept me focused on strategies that were so ingrained in me I could perform them with my eyes shut. Watch for movement. Stick to the shadows. Check for snipers. Look for bullet casings, scuff marks on the cement floor. Roll through each step to silence any sounds from my boots. Finger extended straight next to the trigger to prevent mistaken firing. Ensure each point of attack is covered. Stay focused.

Two quick taps on my team's individual frequency sounded in my ear. Motioning for Chet to take up my position looking ahead, I turned to see what had been found. Hal was crouching at the base of a steel cargo container, motioning to me and clicking on a muted UV light to indicate what he had found. Something dark and red was splashed against the steel wall and floor it stood on, a little congealed, but fresh. Blood. It was smeared in places and flecked in others, as if someone had been thrown against the wall and struggled weakly to get up again. A bloody handprint glistened in the light as Hal photographed the macabre scene with the night vision camera, and collected a sample for DNA checks.

I felt like I had been given a sucker punch to the gut, flashes of possibilities rushing through my mind. None of them were good.

0 0 0

After quickly ensuring I was stable, Lester left to get back to the Comm. Room and left me with Ella. I closed my eyes as the cloth moved over my face once more and her soft voice spoke to me, but I wasn't listening. I knew she was trying to comfort me and convince me that Carlos would be fine, but we both knew they were empty words. Nothing could ensure his safety, no matter how badly I wanted to believe it.

I noticed after a while that I was lying in his darkened office again, and that my boots were still at the end of the couch. A plan began to form in the back of my mind as Ella continued to talk, unaware of my racing mind. It shouldn't be too hard. As long as I was quick.

"Ella," I said, glad that my voice still sounded tired and husky. "Could I have some water?"

"Of course dear, I'll be right back." She smiled, obviously pleased that I had spoken at last, and was gone in a flash. As soon as the door closed I was sitting up on the couch, pulling on my boots, lacing them hastily and moving quickly to the door to listen for sounds_._

Nothing.

I turned the handle quickly to see Ella disappearing into the Break room, and I made my move. Keeping close to the wall I crept quietly to the door to the stairwell, grateful for the carpet that muffled my steps. I could hear Lester talking to the teams on the ground, and the crackle of the radio as he received a reply. Praying that the door wouldn't creak I pushed slowly against the bar to open it, holding my breath until it was just wide enough to slip through. In a moment I was sprinting down the stairs, trying to move past the cameras that were trained on me, thankful there were so few men upstairs: hopefully they were neglecting the interior cameras. I took the stairs two at a time, all notions of silence out the window as I simply tried to move as quickly as possible. Ella had to be on her way back to Carlos' office now, and I didn't know how long it would take her to raise the alarm. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew what I was doing was thoughtless and stupid, but I shoved it aside. I just needed to be with Carlos.

I crashed through the Garage door and grabbed a set of keys to one of the black Jeeps that lined the walls, and I was strapped in with the motor on in another second. Pressing the button on the remote to open the gates so they would be ready, I reversed out of the parking spot when, to my horror, the overhead lights cut out, leaving only the red emergency lights glaring at me.

Smoked.

Ella had obviously realised I was missing, and they had activated the building lockdown—if I didn't get out now, I was done for. My foot slammed the accelerator straight to the floor as the gate started to close. Shit, it was tight. I held my breath as the nose of the Jeep sped through, then the middle. One side of the gate hit the rear door as it passed through and I fishtailed onto the street, feeling the groan of metal as it dragged along the side of the car.

I gasped for breath, staring wide eyed at the gates that clanged shut, deep gouges now carved into the side of the reinforced metal.

I was through, barely.

That was what was important.

_The world is empty,_

_Its' rooms are bare,_

_I just wish_

_I could see you there._

0 0 0

We continued haltingly along the path we were following, now watching carefully for the spatters of blood that splashed every few feet along the way. Progress was painstakingly slow because of the need to document everything we found and relay it back to Rangeman. We had been in the warehouse for almost twenty minutes now, and I was getting more and more restless as the seconds ticked by.

Taking the point position as Hal checked out another spray of blood, I noticed a _faint light ahead: _an opening in the debris and containers that had littered the rest of the warehouse. I motioned Hector and Zip to stay with Hal as he took the sample and quickly photographed the scene, and nodded Chet to take the rear. My feet seemed to move quicker of their own accord, matching the increase in my heart rate that pounded thunderously in my ears as I began to steal closer to the opening. A matter of seconds later I reached the end of the final walkway, jaw clenched and body hyperaware of everything that was happening around me. I took a deep, steadying breath, closing my eyes for a moment and trying to calm myself before I stepped out of the gloom and into the harsh light of the scene in front of me.

0 0 0

I had managed to steal a piece of paper with the location of the phone call on it, and I punched the coordinates into the GPS as I sped north. The sky was pitch black and starless; the hazy, unnatural glow of the streetlights did little to pierce the shadows. The streets were thankfully empty of both cars and people as I tore through stop signs and cornered the Jeep on two wheels. It had to have been at least three quarters of an hour since they had left, and assuming it took them the twenty minutes my GPS was indicating to drive there, they had probably been in there for twenty minutes now: having taken time to set up, get organised and pinpoint the exact location of the call.

'If I can keep this speed up, and if I'm very lucky, I can probably make it there in ten minutes' I thought. My knuckles were white as I gripped the steering wheel with everything I had, two handing corners and quickly turning the wheel as I braked to skid around and pick up speed again as fast as possible.

It didn't matter that I had no weapons, no body armour, no back up.

All that mattered was that I would be with him soon.

I would be with Carlos.

_I'm all alone,_

_Here without you,_

_My chest is still,_

_I guess that's new._

0 0 0

A single naked bulb was hooked up to a steel container about fifty feet away from me, casting a harsh glare over the large, cleared space that stretched around me. I had entered from the south-east side of the circle, trying to cover as much of the space with my rifle as possible; checking the tops of crates and the edges of other paths that led away from the spot for the telltale signs of attackers. I was so focused on my task that I didn't realise what was in front of me until I heard Chet's quiet intake of breath. Only then did I see properly what had been done to the place.

The floor was covered with lines of what looked like black spray paint that had been made a foot wide, and spread over the entire space to form a symbol, stretching twenty feet across and twenty five feet wide. It looked like a letter, Greek or Arabic of some sort, a slightly oval circle with a hook extending above it.

δ

"Delta." Chet whispered on an exhalation to me, staring at the letter as well. "It's a lower case Delta. Greek alphabet."

But I wasn't looking at it anymore. My eyes were transfixed by something lying beneath the light bulb that had been thrown into shadow by the position it had been placed in. Dread slid down my spine as I began to move closer without thinking, staring at the figure that lay sprawled against the container. It was a woman.

0 0 0

I was maybe two minutes away from my destination when my phone rang in my pocket, sharp and startling in the silence. I groaned when the Bluetooth in the Jeep automatically connected the call, wishing I could have just ignored it.

"Stephanie." Despite the facade of calm that laced Lester's voice, I could almost hear his fury reaching down the phone at me. "Stop the car."

"No," I said quietly.

"Stephanie—"

"I said no, Lester," I yelled; ripping the phone out of my pocket and resisting the urge to fling it out of the window, instead pressing the power button until the screen went blank. I couldn't let him stop me from getting to Carlos. I couldn't let anyone stop me.

_The cold is all I feel,_

_The bite that's in the air,_

_Chills me to the bone,_

_Nothing's all that's there._

0 0 0

She was a mess; blood pooling on the concrete floor around her, clothes shredded and hanging off her in pieces. Her eyes were wide and unflinching, staring unseeingly at me as I felt her neck for her pulse. She was still faintly warm. She hadn't been dead long.

Her skin was covered in knife cuts and scratches, and her left arm looked as though it had been burned some time before she'd died. The slash across her back was clearly visible from the way she had been laid, curled unnaturally around herself with her back to the cleared space behind her. Flipping my night vision goggles up I rubbed my fingers swiftly over my eyes, trying to clamp down on the horror that was rising in me.

Something white poked out from underneath the stained t-shirt the girl was wearing, it looked like a crushed piece of paper. Taking a pair of gloves from my belt I pulled them on and gently extracted the crumpled note, written in black ink.

"_A reminder to Stephanie of what is in store for her._"

_Tick tock, Carlos. _

_Time is running out."_

The same symbol, the lower case delta was drawn on the other side of the paper, as well as a clock. I looked closer and saw that it looked like a stopwatch, with sixty seconds marked on it.

_Tick tock, Carlos. Time is running out._

Pulling the girls clothing further back, I saw the same watch, counting down from nineteen seconds.

_Run._

My mind was completely empty as I clutched the watch and stood, grabbing the front of Chet's Kevlar vest and started to sprint away from the poor girl, moving faster than I had ever thought possible.

"RUN!" I bellowed to the men, pressing the emergency signal on the communicators and hoping that the other teams were as far away as possible. I looked at the watch. Twelve seconds. Air burned through my lungs as I sprinted through the maze of shapeless piles of metal, trying to remember the way out. My footsteps thundered in the cavernous room with the others hot on my heels. I knew it wouldn't be enough though. Stephanie's beautiful face filled my mind as I pushed harder and faster to escape, ignoring the screaming pain in my legs and my heart that was beating too fast and the breaths that were too quick. _Her expression of betrayal as she fell into my arms_. The world became silent. _The way her bright blue eyes made my heart skip a beat_. Three seconds. The door came into view, thirty feet from where I was. I closed my eyes as I ran, holding her image like a beacon in my mind, taking all the strength I could from her.

_It was ok. She was safe._

Two seconds.

_I could let go now._

One second.

I didn't feel the punch of the explosion that flung me into the air, _or hear the rush of sound that ripped through my eardrums_. I didn't feel the flames that quickly started to lick up the walls of the building, or the heavy bits of concrete and metal that hit me as I crashed to the ground. I didn't feel any of it.

_A voice in my head_

_Tells me to close my eyes,_

_To clench my fists,_

_And hold on tight._

0 0 0

I rounded the final corner and saw the Rangeman vehicles lined up against a large building, burning a path up the street. I had to get to him, something wasn't right, something was going to happen. I had to tell Carlos!

I stamped on the brakes and wrenched the wheel to the side as I neared the place, screeching to a stop that left tyre marks all over the road. Things slowed, as I tried to get out of the Jeep. Thrusting the door open, I heard a huge noise from inside the warehouse. The roof lifted off in a way that seemed impossible and huge cracks appeared in the concrete walls as they groaned, beginning to collapse in. The breath was knocked out of me as I froze, watching an enormous fireball punch out of the huge open door, the heat and air smashing me into the Jeep where I slid down.

_Dear God._

_Things are changing,_

_That much's clear_

_The sky is red,_

_But I'm still here._

_It was 2 months, 8 days, 16 hours and 15 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And Carlos was gone._

0 0 0

Author's Note:

(Ducks for cover) Don't kill me! I'm sorry! Nahhh, I'm not hehehe. Well you _asked_ for action? Evidently I don't do things in half-measures. You wait until next chapter: so far, it's a real kicker!

So, what did you think: enjoyable? Do you think I killed off Carlos? Did the other teams survive? How's Stephanie going to deal with this? And, most importantly, what's going to happen next?

I wrote the lyrics at the end of each section: hope you liked them :) As always, huge thanks to my beta _Svendances_.

Now click the little button below, review, and let me know what you think is going to happen. Let's try and beat the previous chapter record of 19 so we can get going onto the next chapter!

Schaefy


	17. And I See You, I Feel You

_Chapter 17_

_**And I See You, I Feel You**_

_If I can stop one heart from breaking,_

_I shall not live in vain;_

_If I can ease one life the aching,_

_Or cool one pain,_

_Or help one fainting robin_

_Unto his nest again,_

_I shall not live in vain._

_-Emily Dickinson_

_12:32 am, April 23._

_North Trenton._

The roaring sound of fire close by was the first thing that registered as the fog in my mind dissipated. The heat was unbearable, flooding across me in waves that overwhelm_ed_me as I tried to open my eyes and figure out where I was. Smoke stung my eyes as I managed to crack them a little, making me cough and choke for breath as it slipped into my lungs: insidious and deadly_. _I was slumped against the Jeep that now held the dent of my body _from when I_had been flung against it. Shattered glass carpeted the ground around me that reflected the flickering fire that burned fifty feet from me. My head lolled to the side, unable to hold itself.

Something wet trickled down my shoulder. I blinked slowly, clumsily moving my hand to feel the back of my head. My brain registered very gradually that the back of my skull was throbbing, and my fingers were smeared with blood when I pulled them back. I closed my eyes for a moment. I was so tired; so desperate for sleep _and the respite it promised that I just wished I could close my eyes again_. Fading into the darkness seemed like a good idea to my foggy brain. Vague, half-formed thoughts wandered through my dazed mind. Must buy bullets...someone owed me a monitor shift... need to tell Carlos something...

_Need to tell Carlos something. _Need... need to tell Carlos something. A dull ache pounded in my head while I tried to pull myself together and take stock of where I was.

_Need to tell Carlos something. _The cuts on my cheeks and arms stung with the sweat that was beading on my skin from the hot summer night. The blaze near me crept higher in the sky, loud crashes sounding from inside the building as it continued to fall in on itself, shooting sparks and flames far into the moonless night.

_Need to tell Carlos something._

I didn't notice the shards of glass that slipped razor sharp into my hands as I used them to stagger to my feet, swaying a little, and stared at the inferno.

_Need to tell Carlos something_. Unsteady steps took me towards some dark shapes lying close to the fire, too close; the germ of realisation forming in my mind as I started to move faster.

_Need to tell Carlos something_. I didn't care that I fell as I ran on legs that couldn't support me. I didn't feel the knee of my jeans tear on the asphalt that was burning hot. A need_—_a driving force so strong it felt like physical bonds_—_was pulling me towards where the door of the warehouse had been; like the connection I felt with Carlos—the tingle on the back of my neck when he was near. The smoke was choking my lungs so much that I felt like I was suffocating and blind, but I pushed on to where I had seen the shapes.

_Need to tell Carlos something._

Something caught my foot and I fell hard to the ground. Unable to catch myself and smashing my head against the ground again, I groaned as pain exploded and the world became hazy for a moment. Reaching out my hand to find out what I had tripped over, I felt...cloth: rough and tear-resistant but melting with the heat of the fire that was so close I could almost feel my skin blistering as I touched it.

A vest. Kevlar. My fingers quickly found the head, removing the helmet, and traced the face so familiar I could recognise it even blind as I was now.

A bloodcurdling, horrible scream burst from my chest as I confirmed who it was, face immobile and still; no breath coming from his mouth. Oh God, no. Please, please God, no!

The tears that streaked my smoke-blackened face evaporated in the smog as I roughly grabbed him, pulling his limp body towards me and clutching him tightly against my chest, as though I thought that it would somehow make his heart beat as hard as mine was. The ground was getting hotter as I knelt there holding him. Debris was still falling from the sky. I choked out a breath, trying to clear my mind.

_Get out. Have to get out. Have to tell Carlos._

His lifeless body was so heavy it took everything I had just to turn him over properly. A cry of frustration ripped from my mouth as I tried to pull him by his arm, but he didn't budge. Absurdly, all I could think was that I was probably hurting him. Kicking away a piece of burning wood that had landed too close to his face, I bent once more to grasp the straps of the Kevlar vest that went over his shoulders. The material was melting in my fingers as I leaned my weight against them until Carlos began to drag along the ground, _the heat_scorching my skin so much I cried out in renewed pain. My legs shook with the effort it took to drag him along the ground, inch by inch, but my mind had gone blank. It seemed to have shut down as I pulled the man I loved away from danger, refusing to accept that he had been too close when the explosion had happened. Instead of facing the sickening horror, so insidious and appalling that seemed to douse my heart with cold fear, I simply focused robotically on what I was doing. I suppose it had always been my way. Step back, pull, relax. Step back, pull, relax. On and on until I felt I had dragged him miles. My eyes burned with tears from the smoke and the shock in my heaving chest, but I couldn't feel the moisture hit my cheeks. I couldn't hear to roaring sound of the flames that crackled high into the sky, or see that the smoke around me was thinning a little, that I was escaping.

I felt my back hit the chain-link fence that bordered the property and I sagged against it, limbs shaking and weak as I tried to breathe after inhaling only smoke for too long. _Need to tell Carlos_. I heaved one last time with all I had left, until Carlos' head lay on my lap, close enough that I could cradle it in my arms. Seeing his face...it made everything go away. I traced the line of his jaw as I had done so many times, trying to ignore the blackness that seemed to tinge my thoughts. He is so beautiful, I thought. My eyes closed for a few seconds, but I fought to stay awake. I ran my fingertips over his face, protected from the explosion by his helmet. The rough stubble of his cheek. The thin knife scar at the corner of his jaw. The small laughter lines around his eyes. His lips that had felt so perfect against mine. It took me longer and longer to open my eyes each time as I blinked away the tears, holding him close to me, until finally, they stayed closed.

_Need to tell Carlos something._

0 0 0

"Bombshell? Stephanie!" Someone was yelling at me in the distance. People were moving me; sirens blared incessantly and made my head feel it was about to explode. I gritted my teeth against the pain that exploded inside my skull, strangled sounds coming from my mouth as I struggled not to be overwhelmed by everything. I felt myself being lifted onto something soft, and the prick of needles in my arms.

"Stephanie!" Somewhere in the depths of my consciousness I realised who was speaking so worriedly to me.

"Tank?" My voice was nothing more than a strangled whisper, snatched away in the cacophony of sound and chaos around me.

"Steph, Christ—"

My shallow breaths began to catch until I started to cough; wracking, heaving movements that almost made me wretch, and _I was_ trying to draw my knees up to my chest even as someone held them down.

"Tank," I croaked, trying to find his hand as I lay, exhausted on what I realised was a gurney "I need to tell Carlos something."

"Stephanie, Carlos is—" His voice was cut off by the jerk of the gurney as the EMTs loaded me into an ambulance and the slamming of the doors.

"Tank? No, where is he? Carlos!" I started to scream, fighting the straps that held me to the bed, trying to move, escape, to get to Carlos. Someone swore and put their hands to my shoulders, forcing me back onto the gurney as I continued to scream on and on.

"Just relax: relax, damn _it," a voice __s_aid, but I was completely beyond reason; frightened out of my mind and hurting more than I had believed possible. To my horror though, I felt my body start to fail me. My resistance weakened as I felt the drugs creep through system, arms falling to the bed until they were as heavy as lead and I struggled to stay conscious.

"That's right," I heard the EMT say, the clatter of the hypodermic needle loud as it dropped into the sharps box. "Close your eyes. It'll be ok."

Even in my state, my addled mind knew that it was never, ever as simple as that.

0 0 0

The gurney jerked and clanged loudly as the EMTs pulled me out of the ambulance and slammed the doors again; making my head ache through the painkillers they had given me. Urgent voices around me, people grabbing my hands to look at my palms, a stethoscope moving around my chest to check my breathing as faceless people pushed me inside. All I caught were flashes of white walls and medical equipment when my eyes drifted open and closed, unable to stay awake properly.

I had been wheeled into the emergency room of an hospital and transferred onto a bed by the time I managed to look again, Doctors and nurses rushing around me and a general state of chaos reigning. I caught sight of a tall figure in black crashing through the doors, looking around and running to my bed.

"Stephanie, Christ, Steph can you hear me?"

I groaned a little, recognising Tank through my cracked eyelids."Hiya big guy..." I managed to croak out as someone began cutting the sleeves of my hoodie off, and a nurse stuck an oxygen canula under my nose. "How're things?" I started to cough again as I talked and I was rolled onto my side to stop myself from choking in case I threw up. I shut my eyes tight as I tried to clear my lungs, weak and exhausted from the effort when they dropped me onto my back again.

"Tank," I whispered, trying to find him under the bright lights of the ER. "Where's Carlos?"

Right on cue, another gurney crashed into the ER, a whole crowd of EMTs working furiously on a black-clad figure that lay motionless on the bed. _Need to tell Carlos something..._

"He's here, Bombshell. He's alive, but in a bad way."

I tried to catch another glimpse as more men were brought in: some sitting or lying on gurneys, but most under their own steam.

"Tank, I need to see him." My voice was drowned in the confusion around me, but I fought them back, using my bandaged hands to fight the people away. "Tank, now. I need to tell Carlos something..."

"Stephanie they have to take him up to surgery in a moment; his burns are serious and he needs treatment now."

"Don't you dare." My voice was fierce and low as I finally managed to open my eyes properly to see Carlos being pulled into the bay next to mine. "Don't you dare let him go until I see him."

A few quick words with the Doctor and my bed was pushed close to Carlos', and I reach out to touch his face, covered in soot and sweat, but otherwise unharmed. _Need to tell Carlos something._

A tear dropped to my cheek as I placed my blistered, burned palm against his skin and leaned slowly and painfully to press my lips to his. _Need to tell Carlos. Need to tell him_.

Emotion clamped up my chest but I gritted my teeth, keeping my face close to his as he lay unmoving.

"Carlos," I murmured, pressing my cheek to his and letting my tears fall onto his face.

_Need to tell Carlos_.

"I love you."

_**It was 2 months, 7 days, 14 hours and 40 minutes until Stephanie disappeared.**_

_**And Carlos was dying.**_

0 0 0

AN: Sorry that was a short chapter: it's just where the natural break was in the story. So what do you think happened to them all? Did the other teams get out or were they hit? Was anyone killed? And what's going to happen to Carlos?

Those of you who've been reviewing the past few chapters will know that there's a sneak peek of the next chapter for everyone who reviews! If that's not an incentive, I don't know what is :P

Thanks again to Svendances for being my amazingly dedicated beta, and to you guys for all your messages and reviews: keep em coming!

Schaefy

PS: I post updates on the status of the next update pretty regularly on my profile, so check it out if you want more info.

PPS: We improved a little on the quest to topple the review record of 19 for a chapter, but we need to keep going people! Let's smash it!


	18. Fortress of Daylight

_AN: Before we start I want to say a huge thank you for waiting so patiently for this chapter, and my responses to reviews. I had surgery to remove my wisdom teeth last week which has knocked me around a lot, so I've been concentrating on resting and getting better. I'm really sorry if I didn't get to reply to your review and you didn't get the sneak peek! To make it up to you all, here's an extra long chapter._

_**Chapter 18**_

_**Fortress of Daylight**_

_6:09am, April 24._

_Dalecross Private Hospital, Trenton. _

The next day dawned muggy and overcast, the predawn light__shone__a dull grey through the__through the window of the room I was in. I sighed, turning my head on the pillow and trying to figure out where I was waking up this time. Lester was slumped in a dilapidated chair by the side of the bed, deep shadows under his eyes betraying his sleepless night. He was snoring lightly, obviously having just dropped off, but looked otherwise ok.

Examining my room more closely, I realised I was in a hospital. A clip on my finger, which I knew from previous visits to be a pulse oximeter, was supplying information into a monitor next to my bed where a stand held a bag of clear liquid feeding into an IV needle in my hand. It was then that I noticed my palms were wrapped in moist gauze where the melting Kevlar had come into contact with my skin, and still felt like they were burning despite the treatment they'd been given. Ignoring the stinging sensation, I searched the rest of my body for injuries, finding only that the superficial burns on my knees had been bandaged, and that huge purple bruising was spreading over one side of my ribs and extended around to my back where I had hit the Jeep.

Flashes of what happened trickled sluggishly through my mind; images of things that felt almost like a dream. A huge blaze lighting the sky with a red glow that shone like a beacon, so high it must have been visible for miles. The deafening crashes of the warehouse beginning to cave in on itself, walls folding in as if they were made of cardboard. The light that flickered over Carlos' face as I held him, exhausted from pulling him away from the fire, and the panic that shot through my heart at the stillness of his chest. The sweat that trickled down my face. The searing pain of my hands.

As I lay back against the pillow and closed my eyes for a moment, still not feeling completely free of the sedatives, a nurse bustled into the room and smiled at me.

"Ah, you're awake. How are you feeling, dear?"

Lester stirred a little as I nodded noncommittally to the woman, watching as she checked the IV line and removed the clip from my finger.

"Not too much pain?" she asked, watching my face closely.

"It's ok," I murmured dully while she scribbled on my chart. "What about the others? Is everyone alright?"

She smiled a little sadly at me, laying a hand on my arm sympathetically. "The Doctor will be around in a moment to brief you on your injuries. There are some serious injuries and burns, but the other patients in this unit are stable for the moment," she said.

I fought the urge to press her for more information, instead fisting my aching__hands in the sheet and turning onto my side. Maddeningly unhelpful.

"Steph?" Lester's voice was rough from sleep, and he was stretching when I looked over at where he was sitting.

"Hi..." I said in a small voice, fiddling nervously with the sheets. He rubbed his face vigorously like he was trying to wipe the sleep away, before coming to sit with me on the end of my bed. My eyes were fixed on the window, though I knew he was looking at me. I had put him through so much the night before: I had distracted him from his job, had made things so much harder by escaping from Rangeman. How could I have been so selfish? "Look, Les, I'm really sorry about last night—"

"Don't be." His gentle hand grasped mine over the bandages, and his eyes were sincere as he looked at me. "I understand."

I sighed with relief, squeezing his fingers in thanks. His eyes crinkled as he smiled a little, and shook his head when I tried to speak again. No need to continue the subject.

"But what about the others? Were they hurt? Oh God, how's Carlos?" The faint smile dropped from his mouth immediately, and suddenly I could see the hallmarks of the night before. Deep lines of worry creased his brow and his hair was sticking up where he had run his hands through it during the night.

"I'm not going to lie, we were extremely lucky. Bobby's team was outside investigating a movement on the roof of the next building when the emergency signal was pressed, and Tank's team was close enough to the rear door to get out of danger before the thing blew. Most of Carlos' team got out, by some miracle. Hal is being treated for burns to his torso, Zip shattered his collarbone when the explosion flung him onto one of those containers and Hector is mostly unhurt." It was his turn to avoid my gaze now. It had not escaped me that he hadn't mentioned the two that must have been closest to the explosion, Chet and Carlos. Lester rubbed his eyes when he noticed my pointed gaze, taking a deep breath and looking like he couldn't quite figure out how to tell me.

"Just say it. I have to know."

"Carlos was shielding Chet when the explosion happened, taking the brunt of the damage for him. Chet's ok, a bit singed, but he's awake and talking." The words seemed to stick in Lester's throat as I stared at him impatiently. He looked at me sadly and I could feel my heart sinking in horror.

"But..." My voice was weak and shaky as I spoke, catching in my chest as my hand clenched around the blankets, unaware of the pain. "But the nurse said everyone in the unit was stable..."

"He's not in this unit, Steph. He's in ICU."

"Oh God..." I felt like the breath was being sucked out of me and I was suffocating, my eyes clenched shut and I tried desperately to breathe.

"It's ok, Steph, it's all right," I could hear Lester saying as he gently pulled me to him and pressed a kiss to my forehead, rubbing my back soothingly until I got my breathing under control.

"So what happened? How bad is it? What's the prognosis?" I blurted out, trying to ask a million questions at once and wishing badly that I could just see him for myself, and touch his chest to make sure his heart really was beating.

"He's got some burns to his arms and neck where his clothing wasn't as tough, and on parts of his back where he was lying. They're only partial-thickness—they don't go all the way through his skin," Lester said, noticing my confusion. "But trying to treat them was difficult. They had the same trouble with your hands. Because the material he was wearing was synthetic, it melted quickly in the heat and made it difficult to get to the damaged tissue. If they just rip it straight off, the fabric just strips off all the damaged layers of skin underneath and doubles the amount of harm that was already done."

I was quiet for a moment, heart beating wildly in my chest as Lester watched my face carefully in case I lost it again.

"That wasn't the only thing though, was it?" I murmured, looking up to see him avoid my eyes again with a sinking feeling in my stomach. "That wouldn't warrant intensive care, that's not the reason he wasn't breathing when I pulled him out of there."

"No, you're right. It's not."

I tried to swallow the panic that seemed to expand in my chest until there was no room left, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"Carlos and Chet were right at the door when the explosion happened, and the explosives had been placed strategically within the warehouse to cause as much damage as possible. On support structures and roof beams for example, to ensure the place went down, but also in the middle of all the metal debris that was stored there. Old bits of disused tools and the like. Harper obviously wanted to make sure the people inside were hit." There was hardness and a calculated detachment in the quality of Lester's voice as he spoke that told me how disgusted he was that someone could have done this_**. **_For fun, no less. "One of the fragments hit Carlos in the back."

I heard my sharp intake of breath, and felt my hands tighten on the sheets again.

"It was just a bit of metal, like a rod, and somehow managed to hit him in just the wrong way. It penetrated the left side of his chest, moving clean through to the other side of his chest. It took out a few ribs and punctured his lung. Thing is, the way it was placed was so close to his heart that..."

My strangled groan seemed very far away as the terror welled up in my chest again and I felt the familiar tightening in my chest that told me I was starting to have a panic attack. Invisible bands tightened around my chest until my breaths became rapid and shallow, and my vision seemed to fog. Carlos... in ICU? Oh God, oh God, oh God; I really can't do this, I thought. A world without Carlos was just so fundamentally wrong that I couldn't even imagine it, and now that I was faced with that very real possibility... He had been such a big part of my life for so long. When we met in college, and whenever he was home in the intervening years when he was on active duty. Spending time with his family, making sure that if he was home over a holiday period that he celebrated with me or his family: Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween. Especially as time went on and his time in the military began to take its toll on his civilian life, and his ability to connect with other people. He was so good at isolating himself from others with work and setting up his company that if I hadn't been there, he would have been completely alone. Carlos was the person I trusted beyond all; the one I would kill for, the one I would die for. If the only life I had was without him, I didn't want it.

"Breathe, Steph. Easy now,__that's it. In, one, two, three, out, one, two, three." Lester counted with me, waiting until my face had regained a little colour and I was resting against the pillow again before continuing.

"Well?" the urgency in my voice betrayed my lingering anxiety.

Lester took my hand and sat next to me on my bed, looking more pained and exhausted than I had ever seen him. He was a man that had spent the past twelve hours fearing for the lives and health of his closest friends with nothing but worry and tormenting possibilities. Having to tell someone that their friend was critically injured probably not what he wanted to be doing right now?

"You sure you're ok?" Nodding impatiently, I motioned for him to get on with it. "As I was saying, the fragment entered his chest between the fifth and sixth ribs," indicating the middle of his chest, "and punctured the superior notch of the lung medially."

I waited for him to translate.

"On the inside of the upper left lung. It's just above where the heart sits in the chest cavity. Anyway, the problem is that that area houses the bodies' major blood exchange, and there are a lot of things that absolutely cannot be injured in there. The point of the fragment had moved through a small amount of lung tissue and continued to travel on that path, straight toward the aorta and pulmonary artery. They're the arteries that pump blood around the body and to the lungs respectively. The tip managed to break the arterial wall of the aorta."

"So..." I paused for a second, trying to get the mess of information in my head to make sense. "So a bit of metal went into his chest." Lester nodded. "And stabbed through his lung." He nodded again. "And then the tip nicked a really important blood vessel."

"More or less."

Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, and I knew my face was paling under the harsh hospital lights as I tried to keep it together.

"It's an absolute miracle that he's survived this long; that the metal was completely embedded and held enough to block the hole in his artery. If it had moved even a millimetre, the aortic wall would have torn completely and Carlos would have bled out in seconds."

My eyes drifted shut as I remembered turning Carlos over onto his back, and trying to drag him out of the way. A stifled sob broke the tense silence as my tears began to fall, thick and fast. Oh God, I could have killed him so easily... while I was trying to save his life. If I had moved him the wrong way, if just one tiny movement had displaced that fragment... I fisted my hands in my hairand cried as images of Carlos dying in front of my flashed before my eyes. And guilt; horrifying, merciless__guilt poured into my heart like paralytic ice. I had so nearly killed him, the man I loved more than anyone else in the entire world. How could I have done that? Despite how much I loved him, how much we had been through and how much it hurt to be together, how could I have done that?

"You saved his life, Steph." A hand pulled my face up until I was looking into Lester's, which was—rather incredibly, I thought—smiling. "The only reason he's alive now is because you pulled him out of there. We had to clear the area as soon as possible when we got there because the walls of the warehouse collapsed right where you had been. Carlos would have eventually bled out, or been crushed or suffocated from the smoke if you hadn't been so incredibly, astonishingly brave."

Warmth and gratitude and admiration filled Lester's eyes as he spoke, and I realised slowly that he really meant what he was saying. He was amazed at what I had done. I looked away for a moment, trying to understand why.

"The guys are all outside. I know they all want to come in and thank you personally." I shook my head immediately, feeling the pounding ache returning from where my head had been hit twice. Exhaustion seemed to be overwhelming again now I had learnt what was most important to me; leaving me feeling physically and emotionally drained. I still had a million questions to ask about Carlos' condition, but it seemed that the sedative they had given me was not quite out of my system.

"I just want to see Carlos." I murmured, my eyes drooping a little as I turned to Lester, and feeling his hand stroke my hair like a protective brother.

"We'll see, Steph." I didn't miss the noncommittal reply as I drifted off again into my haunted and restless dreams.

0 0 0

The sun was low in the sky and dark gold light was shining into the room from the window in the corner when I opened my eyes again, feeling much more alert than I had for the last thirty six hours. It was Bobby in the seat next to my bed this time, flipping through some medical charts with a furrowed brow and masked expression that every doctor learns at med school. He smiled when he saw I was awake though, and stood up to stretch and give a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi Sweetheart. Nice to see the big blues open again!" he said light-heartedly, taking my pulse and using a pen light to check my pupil dilation before nodding approvingly.

"How is he?" were the first words out of my mouth and Bobby's face resumed its' guarded expression as he watched my face carefully.

"What do you know?"

"Just about the injury. That the bit of metal had gone through his lung and into a pretty major artery. But how come he didn't bleed out immediately? Is he ok? Did they get it out and treat his burns and everything?" My words got faster and faster as I tried to ask everything at once, until Bobby laid his hand on mine to stem the flow.

"I can answer your questions Steph, but you have to be patient." I nodded though my heart was telling me to grab him by the collar and demand everything. Patience had never been my strong suit.

"Carlos didn't bleed out because the metal lodged between his ribs, and kept the artery sealed. Like when you put your finger against a hole in a bucket to stop water coming out. If you take your finger away, the water starts leaking: the same principle applies. It was just lucky that nothing displaced it before the EMTs realised it was in there and immobilised him."

I swallowed the guilt that threatened to make another appearance, and tried to concentrate on what Bobby was saying.

"They took him into surgery right after you talked to him, and they were operating for about three hours repairing the tissue damage and reinflating the lung. Because his burns were quite extensive, they also debrided them surgically while he was in there." I must have looked blank because he added "It means they cleaned it. Removed all the foreign matter and treated the damaged skin and so on."

"Ok..." I spoke slowly, processing all the jargon in my head. "So what about now? How is he doing? Why is he still in ICU?" The twitch in Bobby's jaw was the only sign that I had asked the question he had been hoping to avoid. He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

"Well, given how tricky his injuries and treatment were, they just want to make sure that..."

"Stop it, Bobby." My voice was harsh as I cut across him, and my expression was cold. "Don't try and lie to me. Don't _ever _lie to me about Carlos' condition. Don't insult me like that."

"I'm sorry." And he looked it, shame momentarily marring his features. "I just wanted... but you're right. I'll be straight with you."

I nodded silently, though my eyes were still wary. Knowing the truth about what was going on was the most important thing at that point, but that didn't stop me being scared of what I might hear. If I had to hear that he'd sustained brain damage from oxygen deprivation, or that something had gone wrong during his surgery, or that he was anything other than stable...I wasn't sure I could handle it. There was a sense of decision in my heart that told me whatever happened, I would be there for him however bad it was. It didn't make hearing those things any better. Being told the sanitised version would never suffice though, I would feel like I was being deceived and cosseted. I could never stand knowing anything other than the truth, however painful.

"Carlos' injuries are serious, and the damage may not repair properly. He's had open heart surgery today and significant burns that increase the risk of contracting a fatal infection ten-fold. He's in an induced coma at the moment, and is relying on a ventilator to breath for him. Everything he's been through has made his condition very fragile; his body just might not be able to cope. His heart might just stop beating and there's nothing we can do to prevent that. Being sedated in ICU means they can give him round the clock care, and let his body have a head start on repairing itself."

It took me a few minutes to think all of this through, and ask a few straggling questions that bothered me. Bobby was patient as I thought silently and honest when he answered, until I finally felt I had a grasp of the situation.

"So, when can I see him?"

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The burns unit was reasonably large at Dalecross because it was the only one in the Trenton/Newark region. The nurse's station, like every other one, intersected two parallel corridors of patient rooms like mine as we passed it, and was an organised mess of charts, correspondence, stray bits of equipment and computers. Bobby pointed out the rooms of the other men that had been admitted, and I was thankful to hear that they were all doing reasonably well. Hal was sore, but awake and talking, and his burns were not so serious that they required grafting or other surgery. Zip's collarbone had been x-rayed and immobilised before he was discharged with only a pain pill prescription. Chet had suffered a concussion from where he'd been thrown, but there was no sign of neural damage and apart from a very sore head, he was fine. I breathed a sigh of relief that the guys that had become my family were ok, but elected to leave them alone with their visitors. Most of the off duty men had come in to check on their friends, and I didn't feel like being assaulted with questions and requests for details that I knew would come whenever I eventually saw them all.

All I really wanted - so desperately it was almost painful - was to see Carlos. To touch his skin and hold his hand, just so I could make sure he was alive. The ICU was quiet when Bobby pushed my wheelchair through the open double doors, apart from the soft beeps of heart monitors that issued from many of the curtained bed spaces. My heart was in my mouth as Bobby nodded a greeting to the nurse on duty and made his way to the end partition, calling to Tank, who had been sitting with Carlos.

"Hey Steph." I smiled as Tank gently enveloped me in his trademark bear hug, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I'm so glad you're ok."

"You too," I said, blinking hard to avoid the tears that were starting to burn in my eyes.

"I just wanted to say thank you. For what you did for Carlos." Tank looked a little self conscious at expressing his feelings when he spoke, jerking his head at the curtained bed behind him.

I shrugged awkwardly; still unsure I deserved the praise. But as soon as my eyes reached the curtain an expression of longing came over my face until Bobby, understanding what I wanted, moved toward them.

"Stephanie is going to visit the boss. I need a brief from the nurses anyway—you should hear that too." He said to Tank. I thanked him silently, knowing he was making sure I would have some time alone with Carlos. My fingers fidgeted with the bandages on my hands as Bobby wheeled me through the curtains and into the darkened room. Bobby murmured that he'd be right outside if I needed him, touched my shoulder in quiet support and left, closing the curtain behind him.

The slow beep of the heart monitor and the soft hiss of the ventilator were the only things I could hear, helping to keep my breathing regular as I tried to muster the courage to look up. I had no idea what to expect and I was scared, more scared than I had ever been, at having to face the possibility that Carlos might not make it through the night. A deep, steadying breath calmed my nerves and I closed my eyes, trying to focus on what was important. Whatever happened, I had to be there for him. I was part of his life, and the risk of losing him was a condition of that_**. **_I couldn't run away from this. I just had to be strong and focus on the positives.

I let my eyes travel slowly up the wall behind the bed, over the monitors that registered the line of his heart beat, his blood oxygen levels and temperature. Down the wires that hung next to the IV stand on the other side of the bed, and the line that trailed down to coil a little on the bed, and into the needle in Carlos' arm. My breath caught a little as I finally managed to gaze at him, hand moving to my mouth as tears filled my eyes. His chest was completely packed with gauze and bandages that covered from just above his navel to beneath his arms, redness creeping out from the skin underneath that looked swollen and sore. The same wet dressing that had been applied to my hands wrapped the length of his left arm and extended underneath him onto his back where he had obviously suffered burns. He was pale and a light sweat beaded his forehead as he lay, unmoving, the mechanical hiss of the ventilator sounded in sync with his consistent chest movement. I couldn't stop the tears that fell as I reached for his hand, or quell the ache in my chest that made me feel like my heart was in agony.

Pushing myself out of the chair onto my shaky legs, I leaned heavily on the bed rail for support as I managed to stand and look at him. See the familiar way his hair fell on his face when he was asleep, or that the tension that usually lingered around his eyes was relaxed; his face untroubled. Slowly, I leaned towards his chest to rest my ear very lightly against the warm skin above his heart. My tears fell unhindered onto his chest as his heartbeat, the most beautiful and comforting sound in the world filled my mind: strong and resolute. I stayed there a long time, letting myself grieve his injuries, and the possibility that he might not wake up again. I cried for the life we had had, too short and full of frustration and empty wishes never fulfilled. I cried for the life he might not get to live, the people who wouldn't be helped by him, the family that would be left behind. I cried for the men, who could lose their boss, colleague and, for a select few, friend.

But I sobbed for us. For the life we would not get to live together, the impossibility of the connection we shared and the restrictions that kept us apart. I sobbed because I had never been able to say I loved him, because he might never get to hear me say it. I sobbed because the man I loved was in danger. I sobbed because I was frightened.

_**It was 2 months, 6 days, 22 hours and 49 minutes until Stephanie disappeared.**_

_**And Carlos was still unconscious.**_

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_So what did you think? Carlos is in a coma, but the other guys are mostly ok. How will Stephanie cope? Will Carlos wake up eventually? And how are they going to catch the guy who did it?_

_If you have any questions about the medical stuff (I'm a science student but not an expert, just warning you) let me know._

_Also, we did indeed match the previous chapter review record of 19 (which has now increased to 20 because the other chapter got another review), so thanks everyone! I would love for it to happen again!_

_Look forward to hearing from you all,_

_Schaefy_


	19. Come In and Stand By

_**Chapter 19**_

_**Come In and Standby**_

_1:42am, April 24._

_Dalecross Private Hospital, Trenton._

The minutes I spent sitting with Carlos slowly became hours, hours became days and there was no change. It was like being stuck in limbo, completely unaware of even the existence of an outside world. The events of inside captivated me in an endless, hopeless chaos of uncertainty. They didn't know when it would be safe to let him wake up. They didn't know if he had suffered a brain injury. They didn't know if his heart was healing properly. They didn't know if he would make it through the next 12 hours. They didn't know. No one knew.

My discharge that had come early the day after I had awoken held little of the relief that had always accompanied it. There was no sense of joy at being released, no wish to escape, no one's arms to run to. In fact, I didn't bother to leave the hospital at all. I simply moved the few belongings and clothes Tank had brought for me into the private room off the ICU that Carlos had been given in order to minimise his exposure to infections. The shadows that ebbed and flowed across the floor of the room were the only indicators that time was passing, and even that went unheeded by my weary mind. It didn't matter to me where I slept or if I ate or showered, because I still hadn't seen the flutter of his eyelids, the prelude to his soft look into my eyes that was the only thing that would convince me he was ok.

I spent days and nights indiscriminately at his bedside, letting my eyes trail over his bandages, the bruising that spread over one arm, the face that seemed to suck me in until we were the only people in the room and my heart was beating hard enough for both of us. Things and people and time came and went, but left little impression on me.

My voice became a little husky from lack of use despite the numerous efforts at conversation the guys put forward. I just didn't feel like talking. I was still paralysed in a state of shock that seemed to have shaken my grasp of... I don't know... normalcy. It scared me how off-centre everything felt when Carlos wasn't there to experience or share it with me, like everything that I was or thought myself to be was grounded in him and my relationship with him.

I stared at the moonless sky one night in the chair next to his bed, exhausted but unable to close my eyes. _Was it healthy to feel that way?_ I wondered, _for my experience to be based so much upon another's?_ I knew the fragility of life, as Lincoln put it "The debt that all men pay"; the evidence was lying in front of me, pale and motionless. I couldn't seem to help it though. Carlos had this power over me, this resolute force that pulled me toward him, no matter how much I fought it. And I did fight it, though each step I tried to take away from him stabbed my aching heart. It was ultimately an exercise in futility, a half-hearted attempt at self-preservation that was destined for failure because I really had no desire to succeed. I wasn't sure whether being completely without Carlos, or loving and losing him would be more painful, and that left me exposed in the middle of the battle between my head and my heart.

I had known how easily his life could end, even before the explosion; so how could I invest so much in a person whom I knew was in a state of constant danger? Someone that could so easily be here one day, and gone the next? Were those brief moments of ecstatic pain I had with him worth the endless days of real agony? Though I searched for answers for hours in the darkest moments of the night, none were forthcoming. The questions hung over me, cruel and oppressive until I escaped briefly to the restless wanderings of my dreams.

It was three days before the guys really took notice of my self-neglect and another day of careful but largely unsuccessful encouragement before they took affirmative action. Bobby and Tank sat down with me and explained, in no uncertain terms, that I was to eat a decent meal, shower and get some sleep in the adjoining relative's room. Or else they would take me forcibly to Ella and lock me in her apartment until I relented. While I loved Ella dearly, having her look after me would be a much more lengthy, time-consuming event than if I were to do it. I gave in reluctantly, forced down some soup Bobby had brought me, showered quickly and was tucked into bed by Tank. Though I hated every moment I was separated from Carlos, the emotional and physical exhaustion overwhelmed me before my head hit the pillow, and sleep claimed me.

Time continued to pass in this fashion for a while, unobtrusive but lingering with a slow malaise before moving on. The dressing on Carlos' burns was changed regularly enough for me to catch glimpses of the raw, red skin beneath that made me feel ill. The sight of my own blistered hands was enough to put me off meals, something that continued to trouble Bobby—who had seemed to have become my self-appointed personal physician. My cheeks hollowed a little over the few days, and I felt more dull and fatigued than ever as I watched the changes wrought on Carlos' body too. His face was pale and sometimes covered in a light sheen of sweat, and an angry red inflammation crept up from beneath his chest bandages. What was most apparent though was how he was growing thinner, losing muscle bulk from the lack of use. Each day the sweats I dressed him in that had been tight grew looser, hanging more on his lean frame as he lay unmoving on the bed.

On the morning of the sixth day since the explosion, Carlos' cardiothoracic surgeon came to visit with important news.

"We're going to wean him off the sedatives over the next 24 hours, see if he's strong enough to breathe on his own for a while." I stared in surprise as the Doctor continued to flick through Carlos' chart as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I couldn't believe it; this was completely out of the blue.

"So...so he's improving?" I stammered out, voice rough from my extended silence. The hope that began to bud in my chest was dangerous, I knew, but I couldn't seem to stop it growing. The Doctors had no idea of what state Carlos was in, whether he would even be able to wake up, never mind being able to talk. He could have a brain injury that might have affected his ability to see or think or speak or walk. His heart could give out the moment he awoke; he could contract a bacterial infection and die. Despite all this, despite every possible worst case scenario, I wasn't able to stop the flutter in my chest at the thought of seeing his eyes open, and the smile he would give me. It's human nature, I suppose. The indomitable, stubborn belief in positivity: of hope against the odds. That was all that was keeping me afloat then.

"Well, he's been stable for a few days now, and it's important to get him off the ventilator as soon as we think it's safe. It's not really designed for long periods of use, and taking him off it will allow us to prevent any potential damage to his respiratory system."

"How are you going to do it?" Bobby asked when I didn't speak, looking at the surgeon.

"The nurses will slowly decrease the concentration of the sedative in his IV until he can breathe on his own. I'll come and assess the situation this evening to see how the patient is doing, and then we'll go from there."

I sat in shock after the doctor left, oblivious to Bobby, Tank and Lester discussing Carlos' condition and the results of the briefing; their whispers passing by me like the merest breath of wind. He could be awake soon... he could be awake as soon as tomorrow. A strange mixture of painful hope and dread swirled around my bleary mind until I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the bliss of drowsiness weigh heavy on my eyelids.

I felt like everything that was happening, every inch of hard-fought ground we won had its own price, its own risks and problems. Carlos had made it through these days, but there was no guarantee he'd survive without life support. He couldn't be left on the ventilator too long because it might damage his respiratory system. He might start breathing on his own again, but he could have a traumatic brain injury.

The room was empty when I looked again, but it didn't seem to matter to me. My eyes caressed his pale face with a longing gaze. The black lashes that brushed his cheek when his eyes were closed. The dark shadow of stubble around his jaw, making him look both devastatingly handsome and even more ill at the same time. The white bandages that formed a stark contrast against his dark skin. It could never be easy for us, no matter what our relationship was labelled as or how we indulged or denied ourselves: that much was clear to me. Whatever we had together was infinitely complex, and affected by so many feelings and beliefs and truths that it felt like we were struggling against bodiless arms that tried to hold us away from each other until I was so tired, so exhausted that the fight had gone out of me. I was just sitting in a sailing boat on a becalmed sea, the wind elusive. Waiting. Watching. Dead.

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Midnight had come and gone, and the sliver of the waxing moon shone impossibly bright among the scattered stars outside the window, slowly and patiently watching over the sleeping world until the sun rose again, and the new day dawned. A cool wind whistled past the window and I shivered against the insidious chill, curling my arms around myself to try and stay warm. My chair was drawn up to Carlos' bed, close enough that I could reach out and hold his hand. It was large and calloused as ever, but its warmth couldn't engulf mine with his open fingers. Four hours had passed since the last of the anaesthetic had been metabolised by his system, four long, hope-filled but ultimately disappointing hours. After a little trouble, Carlos' chest had started to rise and fall on its own, and the ventilator subsequently removed. Each beep of the heart monitor made me weak with relief for a moment: infinitely thankful his body had been able to cope thus far, while simultaneouslybeing desperately terrified that it wouldn't last much longer. But every hour that passed was a good sign, the Doctor had said. Just as the first twenty four hours of his stay had been critical, so the next twenty four would be with his new condition.

I had waited with bated breath as the Doctor finally pronounced the sedative was finished, expecting Carlos' eyes to open at any second, or his hand to move, or a whispered word leave his lips. It had become clear to me, however, as I sat next to his bed and stared at him, willing him with everything I had to wake up, that it would never be that easy. It had never been that easy. Each step we took together was a battle won in a war that was rapidly taking everything I had. To think that anything, _anything _would be simple at this point was just naiveté. Minutes passed, but nothing happened. The first tendrils of doubt began to worm their way into my heart, subtle and deadly. What if he didn't wake up? What if he never woke up? What if he couldn't wake up?

"It's not surprising," Dr Morrison said when I asked him "Mr Manoso has been through a huge trauma in the past week, and his body has been working very hard to recover from it. What we did with the sedatives was give it a chance to concentrate on doing that, without worrying about having to do normal things like moving or speaking or waking. While we've removed the sedative, his brain is saying to itself 'I'm not quite done yet, I need a bit longer'. It's just a natural extension of the medically induced coma."

"But...when will he wake up?" I asked in a husky voice, closing my eyes tight against the burning feeling of tears.

Dr Morrison put a kind hand on my arm. "It's up to him now. In a day or a week or a month, his brain might think it's ready, and will let him wake up. But it may also never think it's ready, and he'd remain in a coma. There would be nothing we could do."

The same tears burnt a hot trail down my cheeks as I laid my hand on his arm, suddenly needing to feel he was really there. Broken sobs choked the silence as the tears continued to fall and my chest ached with the pain. He was so alive, so real, right in front of me. How could it not be him? How could he never wake up?

A pounding ache lanced through my heart as I cried with fear and sorrow and what might have been. I missed the feeling I got when his hand held mine, or he tucked my head under his chin. When he slipped a curl back behind my ear, or his dark gaze stared straight through me.

"Come back, baby," The words were barely intelligible when I whispered them to Carlos, climbing onto his bed so I could gently lie next to him, lying my head on his shoulder and inhaling the familiar scent that brought back a thousand perfect memories.

"I can't...I just can't... please" My fingers traced over his chest, lightly over his bandages, his arms, his face, anything to make me feel that he was there with me, that he could hear me.

"Come back Carlos, don't leave me alone here, please!" I shut my eyes tight against the tears, and the sobs so strong I felt they would rip my chest in two.

"Please don't leave me," I whispered, pressing my face into his neck.

_When I look at you,_

_My heart beats faster,_

_And the world just stops_

_To see you._

_When I hear you speak,_

_My voice just fades,_

_My lips won't move_

_And I just gaze._

_When I feel your touch_

_My skin just burns,_

_Like the heat of_

_A thousand lover's hearts._

_When you look at me,_

_When your eyes meet mine,_

_When I feel your gaze,_

_and you feel mine._

_My heart stops,_

_The world stops,_

_Time stops._

_When you look at me._

Then something clicked in my mind, and the world shifted beneath my feet. I gritted my teeth as I fought to take the deep breaths my lungs were screaming out for, and pushed myself blindly off the bed and out the door of the room. I was spinning out of control, staring in horror at what had happened, and what was to come. Fists clenched, I began to run through the maze of corridors in the hospital, past patients and Doctors in lab coats, visitors and empty beds: hallways filled with every kind of pain that turned the world into a paradox of inimitable beauty and crippling agony. Loss, both new and old, grief, anger, despair, apathy, hopelessness. And the most painful. Love.

The tears that fell as thick and fast as the rain that had begun to pound down outside obscured my vision, until all I could make out were vague shapes in my panicking, frantic mind.

I crashed through the front doors as I met them, running straight out into the storm. Water drenched me in a matter of seconds, making my hair hang in wet strings like a curtain around my face, and chills ripple through my body in the freezing wind while the crash of thunder rang ominously in my ears until it filled my mind with sound. My knees hit the road and I was hugging my arms around myself. I didn't bother to fight the wracking sobs anymore; I just let them strangle my breaths. The heavy, stinging drops pelted onto my face as I turned it to face the dark, swirling clouds; mingling with the tears that ripped my heart apart.

_**It was 1 month, 29 days, 15 hours and 52 minutes until Stephanie disappeared.**_

_**And she was losing hope.**_

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_Hi everyone: sorry for the delay in posting: had an email problem and then the internet was down.. blah blah blah. Anyway. Next chapter is written, going off to editing now, so hopefully will be a faster upload. Quick thank you to my beta Svendances, without whom this story would be rife with all sorts of grammatical and phrasing crime. Chapter titles from the song "Mercy" by OneRepublic. Song in the chapter was written by me._

_So, did you like it? Will Carlos wake up? Will he have a brain injury or heart complications or will he simply stay in the coma? Will Stephanie be able to cope if he doesn't? Let me know what you think._

_As always, one little review is your ticket to a sneak peek of the next chapter! I'd love to hear from you._

Schaefy


	20. Waiting to Catch the Quickest Plane

_**Before we start, I would just like to say that due to the absence of my beta (who is on a well earned holiday) this update is unedited by anyone but myself. Any mistakes are mine. Hopefully there won' be too many.**_

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_**Chapter 20**_

_**Waiting to Catch the Quickest Plane**_

_Hope is the thing with feathers  
That perches in the soul,  
And sings the tune-without the words,  
And never stops at all,_

_And sweetest in the gale is heard;  
And sore must be the storm  
That could abash the little bird  
That kept so many warm._

_I've heard it in the chillest land,  
And on the strangest sea;  
Yet, never, in extremity,  
It asked a crumb of me._

_-Emily Dickinson_

_5:02am, April 24._

_Dalecross Private Hospital, Trenton._

I knew it was early when my mind drifted back to consciousness; my eyes felt dry and gritty and tired from crying, and my head ached. The sleepy fog that filled my mind made everything seem hazy and dreamlike, but I could feel something. Something in the back of my mind, a realisation, that was fighting through the mist. It was something important, something crucial, I could feel it. I lay back, pulling my hand over my face in an attempt to block out the world, trying to remember what had happened last night. I was soaked before the guys had a chance to pull me back inside, and both shivering an inconsolable by the time we reached Carlos' room. After a while, Tank simply held me in his arms until I had cried myself out, every last tear and hurt and fear til my eyes were heavy and tired. I could vaguely remember waking sometime during the early morning, and the crushing disappointment that had filled me when I saw Carlos was still unconscious. Exhausted by the day of emotional overdrive, I had fallen asleep sitting beside Carlos' bed, holding his hand protectively in mine.

The pillow my head was resting on, warm and strangely firm shifted a little. The niggle in my subconscious was nudging me again; there was something important I had forgotten, something so close to my heart that was eluding me.

My back hit the side frame of the bed as simultaneously rolled onto my back and opened my eyes to stare at the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

"Hey Babe," His voice was husky and whisper soft, and his perfect lips tipped up at the corners, looking at the place on his shoulder where I had been sleeping. "Long time, no see."

I just stared wordlessly into his deep brown eyes as they crinkled a little into a smile, not quite sure if he wasn't just a figment of my desperate imagination. I had spent so long just waiting for this moment, to see the smile on his face and hear his first words to me that I had almost begun to feel it would never happen. When you wait for something for so long, when you wish for it with all your heart, and feel like you couldn't be whole if it never came: something changes. Perspective, I suppose. When the pressure is on and people that are important to you are at stake, the way in which you view the world alters. Things blur and fade that were once as necessary as breath to you, while others sharpen into painful and unrelenting reality to the point where the world becomes hostile, unfamiliar: a purgatorial wasteland haunted by what was, and tormented by what is yet to come.

Hesitatingly, I reached out a fingertip to touch his chest. The steady beating of his heart reached my fingers, and its warmth spread through my hand as I pressed it to his skin, moving it softly up his neck to cup his cheek. It felt so real, so like the dreams I had had every time I had closed my eyes. Each time I had awoken, it was to the excruciating reality of disappointment of the dream I held most dear to my heart. Each time, for one shimmering, ecstatic moment, I had believed. Each time, the truth crushed the bud of hope until it lay forlorn and broken.

"Please tell me it's you," I whispered, feeling the warmth of a tear on my cheek as I drank him in; staring into his eyes, at his mouth, his jaw, his fingers as the grasped mine. "I can't take it anymore. Please don't leave me again..."

"I'm here, Babe, I'm right here," His soft voice was achingly tender, and the poignant look in the depths of his dark eyes made my breath catch in my chest until my mind seemed to spin out of control. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I was so afraid that..."The words stumbled in my mouth and I couldn't seem to speak the terrifying reality I had been confronted with every moment that his eyes had been closed. "I was so afraid you'd leave me. I was so scared you wouldn't wake up."

My tears were falling in earnest now, forming a wet trail down my cheek, dropping gently onto the bedclothes between us and soaking into the sheets. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to comprehend the shock. Blankets rustled and Carlos' breathing laboured a little until I felt his gentle fingers tipping my chin towards his face, silently asking me to look at him. I took a shaky breath and opened my eyes while his hand moved to my cheek.

"It'll take more than that to make me leave you."

I couldn't find the words to frame what I was feeling, the swelling, heaving emotion that raged through my chest at his avowal. I simply lay my head gently back onto his shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine where we touched, lulling my fears to sleep.

His head rested gently against mine, the quiet whisper of his breath reassuring across my skin as I felt his eyes close again.

Over the past few months, as we searched desperately for the man responsible for what happened to those girls, my relationship with Carlos had changed faster than I could have ever imagined. I suppose the shared experience of stress, fear and the nagging feeling of hopelessness that pervaded the entire investigation makes us take a step back and survey our own lives. Death has a curious way of making one revaluate one's priorities, I guess. Being surrounded by the constant oppression of the murders, of the inevitability of oblivion and the finite nature that was life had affected all of us in different ways. It had made Carlos more introverted and troubled than ever. Lester had redoubled his innuendos and jokes in an effort to defend himself against the melancholy. Bobby had spent every minute he was not on the job with his wife and young daughter, and Tank thrown himself into work even more than usual.

My response was different though. I had come to realise that while what I had with Carlos was the dearest thing to me in the world, the thing I cherished and relied upon more than any other; I wanted more than that. I wanted to be the one to love him unconditionally. To be his family, his friend, his lover. I wanted to be the one to show him how to be close to someone, to allow himself to lean on someone else to get through whatever shit we were dealing with. But above all, I wanted him to be happy. I wanted to be the one that _made_ him happy.

I had finally begun to question the veracity of my fear of losing him, because I had briefly realised the alternative: never being able to tell him. For him never to know what I felt for him, that he was loved beyond anything he could imagine, with a passion that surpassed any Shakespeare or Bronte or Donne. If loving and losing him was my lot in life, then so be it. But I wasn't going to let my chance at happiness pass me by because I didn't have the courage to realise and go after what I wanted. The constant reminders of mortality had made me realise that there wasn't time to be scared or apprehensive. I had only one chance at this. I had to make it count.

These past few months had been both the most intimate and the most distant we had been with each other. Refusing to accept what we each needed from the other, we had danced around each other, until staying apart became too much to bear and we finally touched, hasty and desperate, unable to face the obvious fact that something had to give in our relationship. Skirting the line between close friends and something more was like dancing on a knifepoint: at some point we had to fall one way or another.

I was not the most prolific of readers, but I had never quite understood the representations of love in books and poetry and stories. While I couldn't argue with the strength of the feeling embodied in the words, I couldn't help feeling that what was there was merely a hope or dream: a romanticism of an ideal that was as impossible as reaching for the moon on gossamer wings. What was depicted was a truth that wove a tale of the epitome of perfection and passion; of feelings that, while existing, were never as pure and undiluted as told in storybooks.

_They never show the other side_, I thought, turning my face a little to look at Carlos' features as he slept, the pale softness of his eyelids heartbreakingly beautiful from where I lay. The books and stories, the hopes and dreams of every little child that hopes that one day they will meet their soul-mate, and get married and love each other until there's nothing left. They don't show that nothing is ever that perfect, or that simple. They don't show that sometimes people don't find another to love, that they can't love, that things in their past make it difficult for them to love. They don't show how circumstance can rip the person you love away from you in a moment, and leave you with nothing but a painful shadow, an eternal reminder of what could have been. They don't tell you that your happily ever after isn't a certainty, it's not fact, that there are no guarantees in life. To find someone to love with your whole heart is a miracle, so near impossible that when the moment of realisation comes it seems all hope is lost. Even more so to find one that loves you the same way in return. Absent are the endless fights and dissatisfactions; the pain and suffering that is part and parcel of loving another who, like yourself, is far from perfect. You can love more than you could ever have imagined, be prepared to shout it to the world, and still be unable to preserve that. It's no one's fault, you can't blame anyone. You'll just find that one day, the love that you desperately try to hang on to will slip through your fingers like water, until there's nothing left but a puddle on the floor; a broken, empty ghost of what had been.

I couldn't understand it. It was the most beautiful, the most important thing in my life. Having someone whom I could trust and trusted me in return, and rely upon to help me when I fell down. How could something that beautiful and rare and precious be so incredibly, eternally full of unrelenting agony? I could feel it burning away inside me, eating away it myself until one day it would spit me out, broken beyond repair, and leave me devastated in the wake of its loss.

I didn't cry. The tears that had fallen so often and so easily in the past few days seemed to have left me. This was something beyond sadness, and anxiety, and the terrible burden of possibility. This was misery of the acutest type, something so without hope that it weighed on my soul until I was drowning beneath it. My eyes clenched shut as the day continued to dawn and time trickled onwards, moving ever closer to whatever was coming for me and Carlos. I clung to his sleeping form as bars of the dawning light began to slip across the floor, heralding the new day and the inevitable progression of life. If all I had of him was right now, then so be it.

But God was I going to fight for more.

0 0 0

Carlos was asleep or dozing most of that first day and much of the week proceeding, but the bond that seemed to stretch between us, invisible but strong, kept me close enough to him that I could stretch out my hand and touch his skin whenever I couldn't quite believe it was real. A tender bud of hope was beginning to grow inside me, the possibility of his recovery stretching like a wide oasis in the future, a brief moment in time when life was suddenly forgiving and miracles were possible. Until I realised what shadows lurked outside the circle of light that was my dreams, as they crumbled into the Valley of Ashes which stretched hollow and empty across the land. Until I realised what I hoped for was simply an ephemeral mirage in the mire that trapped us. The nurse coming in to rouse Carlos every few hours was testament to that. Being awake was a miracle, but for him to fully recover was going to take another one. There were no promises, no guarantees, no agreements; only embattled hope and constant prayer that this too would pass.

It was only when he opened his eyes as the sun had disappeared below the horizon and darkness had fallen over the seventh day after he had first awoken that I knew he was really alert. His eyes had their familiar almost imperceptible watchfulness as he looked properly around the room for the first time while I looked on wordlessly.

Some people feel the need to fill every silence with words or music or sound, to never let themselve's pause and think for a moment. I suppose it's because they're frightened of what they'll see. That they're stuck in the middle of a life they don't want, that's too difficult and painful to consider attempting to change. Words were something that Carlos and I used sparingly; we never needed to make mindless conversation about things neither of us cared about. Whatever we said was said because it was important, because it meant something. We knew each other so well, so perfectly, that we just didn't need words often enough. Mostly, we shared a companionable silence full of the nuances of our unspoken but still mutually understood conversation. What can be said in a few words of significance is worth more than all the meaningless essays in the world.

I was lying next to him in his bed, his hand having found mine and pulling me close until I lay with my face beside his. I was acutely aware of how close we were: the curve of our legs as they touched a little, the way my torso curled around his until I was tucked into the crook of his neck as he lay on his bed. Our fingers entwined on his bare chest left me feeling close to tears, my heart aching that even though I was wound so tightly against him, he had still managed to keep me at arm's length. The finite nature of time that had seemed so apparent to me in the past week had seemed to fade with the light of the sun that evening, and left me feeling vulnerable and naked of the armour that normally protected my heart.

Little was said, mostly unspoken, but something was different. The careful boundaries that pervaded our lives and the way we interacted with each other had also disappeared, taking with it the reserved caution that coloured our conversation. His fingers were gently playing with mine where they lay against his warm chest as I watched from my position on his shoulder, while each breath and whispered word sent the vibration of his chest into mine. His face was invisible in the darkness so his expression was indistinguishable, but I didn't need to see it to read his feelings. The calm sound of his heart that quickened and slow as we spoke betrayed what he felt more than any look ever could.

"What are you afraid of most?" I asked in the darkness of the moon staring through the window at me. I wasn't sure that I would get an answer to such a candid and personal question, but I listened to Carlos' breaths stay regular as he considered his reply.

"Afraid of?" he murmured, shifting his arm to rest his head on his hand and turn slightly until his lips were touching my hair as he spoke, slowly inhaling the scent of my shampoo.

"Yes," my voice was breathy and quiet in the gloom, hesitatingly after a moment. "I think fears are indicative of the sort of person you are. What you value, beneath the expectations and rigidity and one dimensionality of the world. Beneath all that, no matter how deeply buried, is something that tells us more about another human being than anything. Their essence, if you like."

His finger tips trailed up my arm to lie just above my elbow while he moved his lips until I could feel them touching the silken skin of my forehead. My skin was electrified and hypersensitive as my eyes fluttered closed at the consciousness of his touch that made my heart beat a tattoo in my chest. The tender touch of his mouth trailed feather light down my hairline, sending shivers down my spine before coming to rest a hair's breadth from mine on the pillow. The urge to lean forward that fraction of an inch was like trying to fight the gravity that kept my feet on the ground. I could feel the tiny rush of his breath against my mouth, the heat that radiated of his skin onto mine. It was intoxicating.

"Time." Carlos' reply was low in the half light, breaking into my reverie. The familiar wound in my chest began to ache; the one that proved I couldn't make everything better for him. "Or, more specifically, a lack of it."

The way his lips moved as he spoke was bewitching as he spoke, and I found myself being caught up both in the words and the way he shaped them; beautiful and sensual until the rest of the world faded away and we were alone.

"I'm not afraid of death, or pain. I wouldn't be very good at my job if I was. I'm afraid that when the time comes, I won't have had the opportunity, or perhaps the courage, to do everything I wanted to. It's an easy game to play in this life, taking for granted that you can do tomorrow what you don't want to do today. Mostly for me, that means letting the people I care about know that I love them."

He leaned forward until his forehead lay against mine. My breath caught a little in my chest as his mouth came closer to mine till they were almost touching.

"I've always tried to distance myself from people. Keep myself emotionally detached." When he spoke, his lips were so close that I could feel them brush, indistinctly, against mine. "It doesn't mean I don't care, or that I don't love as much as others: just that I weigh the emotional risk to the other person against whatever it is I can give them. I can love someone more than I think I could ever bear, until I feel like I can't stand another moment without them in my arms. But I have so little to give in return to whatever they can give that whatever happens between us can only resolve in regret and pain. If all I can contribute is my death, and the emotional hole that leaves, I will deprive myself of whatever happiness we have to save the other person. But I suppose I'm afraid that I'll run out of time to let those people know how much I love them, how much they mean to me. My journey hasn't been an easy one, and it would have been impossible to go on without them."

My tears had begun to flow long before his quiet whisper ceased to bridge the darkness between us; such was the pain that exploded in my heart. Suddenly unable to help myself, I quickly tilted my lips to his; glad I could not see his expression in the gloom. Our kiss was soft and tender, savouring each moment with a bittersweet joy that melted into the next one. His lips met mine as hungrily as the fire that seemed to have ignited in my heart: they moved together, as one, complementing each other in a way that made the tears flow faster down my cheeks as we lay there. His hand trailed exquisitely up my arm before sliding down to sit possessively on the swell of my hip, his thumb stroking my skin where he had pushed away my shirt and making me feel like I couldn't get close enough to him, though we were pressed tightly against each other from head to toe. One of my hands traced his bare chest from where he had been holding it, over his wildly beating heart to thread into his hair and pull him closer to me, while one of his legs slid between mine. Each touch of his lips set my heart singing again, and each parting made it ache with the loss until my mouth was reclaimed, and I could marvel at the heady wonder of his touch. His hand moved further beneath my shirt until it was splayed at the small of my back, pulling me closer, if it were possible.

"Carlos..." my whisper was hoarse and strained as he trailed kisses to my neck arched in pleasure so intense it was almost. He shifted his body until he was leaning over me, elbows either side of my face and his dark eyes that were full of passion stared into mine.

"Yes?"

I hesitated a moment, staring at his beautiful face that was inches from mine, and looking into mine as if this was all he had ever wanted. The words tangled in my chest as I stared at his features until my mind was blank. So I just pulled his face to mine, hungrily, passionately, to show him with actions what I couldn't quite put into words.

_**It was 1 month, 21 days, 18 hours and 55 minutes until Stephanie disappeared.**_

_**And everything had changed.**_

0 0 0

Ha, Bet you didn't see that coming! So they finally got together, what do you think is going to happen now? Will Carlos change his mind about letting in Stephanie or will he continue to torture them both? How will their relationship change, and how are they going to continue working with each other after this?

Poem at the start is by Emily Dickinson, and I love it. I think it's a perfect representation of what Carlos and Stephanie feel. Title lyrics are "Mercy" by OneRepublic.

Please review for a sneak peek of the next chapter, which is sure to be very exciting!

Have a wonderful Christmas and I wish you all the best for the New Year (when the next chapter will probably be posted.)

Love,

Schaefy


	21. Flying to Nowhere

_**Chapter 21**_

_**Flying to Nowhere**_

_4:52am, May 9._

_Dalecross Private Hospital, Trenton._

If I ever said I had never run from anything, I'd be lying. Whether you like it or not, everyone is running from something; it's a self preservation thing. Brothers, sisters, parents, family, obligation, responsibility, death, grief, life, _reality_. It doesn't matter if it's a physical or social or emotional threat. A threat is a threat, and the instinct to protect one's self is strong enough to overcome any vestiges of pride and self respect that may remain until we finally give in, and run. I used to pride myself in trying to stick it out, to prove to myself and others that I could be strong and face whatever challenge is coming head on. But I knew, even as I was doing it, that I was not even running from this one. I was sprinting.

It started out ok. I yawned as sleep faded, snuggling back into the warm figure beside me and hoping to return to my dreams, while curling my legs closer to keep warm under the flimsy hospital sheet. Something felt different, but my sleepy brain was less concerned with discovering what it was than shutting down again for a couple more hours. Fleeting images of what had happened the night before flashed in my mind, something about Carlos as I stretched my arms out and realised that I was sore in places. Significant places. My eyes snapped open and I sat up with a jerk, the sheet fell off me. Carlos was lying next to me, his gentle breathing slow and regular as he slept on, unaware and uncomprehending about what had happened.

_Oh God Oh God Oh God. Have to leave. Got to get out._

I felt dazed as I rolled out of his hospital bed and ran into the adjoining bathroom, and saw the evidence of what we had done all over my body. Bite marks darkening to bruises laced by shoulders and torso, my lips were puffy and red and my hair was looking obviously tousled. My mind was numb while I quickly took care of business, scrubbing my face hard and trying to tame my hair into an acceptable ponytail. It wasn't surprise or joy or even sadness that filled me; just endless, bitter shock. How could I have done this? I had ruined everything, I had _changed_ everything! Fuck, I finally had something in life I felt was worth living for: the guys' friendship, my job, and Carlos. How could I fuck this up so badly? The burning tears of panic welling in my eyes I lent my hands either side of the sink, trying to take some deep breaths to stop myself hyperventilating.

_Calm down. We'll figure this out_, I thought.

I groaned internally, shutting my eyes tight. Shit.

I felt dirty, embarrassed, ashamed. Vulnerable, I suppose. What had happened last night... it wasn't like... well it wasn't like I expected it to be. It was the most personal thing I had ever experienced, one in which I carefully showed him all of my hopes and dreams and flaws, and he showed me his. How could I pretend that never happened? It was sensual and beautiful and heartbreakingly sad, and seared into my mind so completely I knew I would never forget it. I had never felt like that with anyone before, in relationships or casually or anything. I had never felt so loved and supported and cherished that it brought me to tears, with such devastating sweetness and honesty that made me forget everything else and just _feel_. I felt that Carlos understood me; it was as simple as that. Instinctual. He didn't need to ask, and what I gave in return was the same.

But it hurt so much, the perfection and the love and the destruction of the carefully drawn boundaries that defined our relationship, because it forced a change: a step into the unknown that was so dark and frightening in its uncertainty that I felt paralysed into inaction. Because now I had had a taste of what it would be like to love him, to be with him. It wasn't the sex I wanted, but the intimacy between us that is so rare I had not even known it could exist between two people. I wished to feel that dear to someone not just once, or sometimes, or occasionally. It had made everything in the past seem insignificant and hollow, because it didn't contain the same destructive meaning that just seemed to ricochet around my head until I felt dizzy. If all I ever had was that night, so full of expectations so thoroughly met and at the same time, disappointed, I didn't know if I could keep pretending that whatever came after would be in any way half of that experience.

I held my breath against the heaving sobs that tore at my chest, silently punching my hand against the solid wall until my knuckles split, leaving soft red smears of blood across the industrial white tile. The pain didn't bother me. God knows, I couldn't feel any more right now.

A few minutes passed and my sobs calmed enough for me to slide down against the wall, resting my throbbing head against the cool tile and letting my mind go blank for a single blissful moment.

_Have to get out._

That was the only coherent thought I could muster at that point, all that mattered. I knew I could never hold it together in front of one of the guys, and seeing Carlos right now just made me feel sick and scared. Of what, I didn't care to think about.

A few deep breathes steadied me and I pulled myself up before moving silently through the door and into the room. Carlos had turned onto his back, his face untroubled and the sheet riding low on his bare hips as he slept. I closed my eyes and swallowed as I saw his matching bruises and marks peppering his neck, though, luckily, they were much more difficult to see on his darker skin. I silently gathered my clothes from where they had been thrown on the floor and the end of the bed, finally managing to track down my socks lying crumpled under the chair next to the door. Pulling on my underwear and jeans, I realised what I was missing. My shirt. Every second I spent in there increased the chances of Carlos waking so I hunted quickly; finally finding it grasped in one of Carlos' hands and balled up beneath his head. Swearing internally, I zipped my jacket all the way up to hide my bra, grabbed my bag and the keys Bobby had left for me and ran.

0 0 0

I didn't have a clear idea of where I wanted to go, just that it had to be far away from him, from the hospital, from things that reminded me of the cataclysm that had just occurred; and while the miles between us melted away under the car as I drove too fast down the highway, there was nothing I could do about the images and vague memories that flashed in front of my eyes. No matter how much I tried to distract myself every thought seemed to trail off, diverted by the search for meaning and direction in the situation in which I found myself.

The Trenton summer was beginning to show itself at last; the humidity making me feel like I was swimming as I drove, staring out the windscreen to catch brief glimpses of the overcast pollution on the horizon. A drop of sweat trickled down my stomach under my jacket while I drove on; apathetic to everything that seemed to no longer matter. Receding into the land of denial I used to so frequently inhabit was a tendency I had attempted to kick long ago, because it never solved anything. No amount of wishing or hoping or dreaming would take you wherever you wanted to be: only doing, even when that frightened you more than anything you had ever imagined.

So I ran, or drove I suppose, without paying attention to anything other the lanes and the cars and the road: not caring about the others, or my feelings, or the destination because none of it mattered. It was arbitrary, pointless, simply things that cluttered the world in a desperate attempt to discover meaning where there was nothing but pain and apathy. None of it mattered without him.

The sun had risen fully by the time I really looked at where I was, turning into the driveway of my house. I hadn't returned since I had taken that trip into the water, mostly because I knew that it was no longer secure. Harper could pass my security systems with apparent ease, which meant I had been temporarily relocated to Rangeman a long time ago now; and while I understood and agreed with that, it didn't make me miss my little house by the ocean any less. I loved having my own space away from work, other people and the city; having the space to think and heal and relax until I could go back for another round. Since I was a kid the beach had been my refuge from life, which was one of the strongest reasons I had had for buying the little dilapidated house perched just beyond the sandy dunes, with the roof that sagged and walls that hadn't seen a new coat of paint in a few decades. It didn't matter that it had taken years of slow and careful renovation to make it truly liveable, because I loved the place with all my heart. I loved the floorboards of bleached driftwood, smooth underfoot from the years of water that had lapped across it, and the careful sanding I had spent weeks completing. I loved the simplicity of the furniture, the shelves that lined the walls of my study with my favourite books, words that never failed to help me through a life I found both demanding and incomprehensible. I loved that I could sit on my veranda each evening and watch the sun set across the slowly breaking waves, or walk on the beach under the stars until I could finally find peace, and fall asleep.

It wasn't surprising, therefore, that this was where I came. For a long time it had been a shelter from my troubles; a quiet, resolutely unchanging place that had never let me down. I parked the car and left it to tread the path down to the dull gold sand that bordered the sea.

For the longest time I wandered along the beach down by the water, letting the cool waves wash over my feet and collecting pieces of driftwood and shells that littered the shoreline. I let everything fade into my mind until I was caught in the one, eternal moment that is the present: just feeling what it was to breath and move and feel until everything that happened washed away with the waves and I was closer to peace. Now wasn't the time to hunt for answers, and regrets achieved nothing but a prolonged anxiety. Whatever chemistry that had pulled us together had been immovable, unstoppable, and I suppose given our history of close calls that one day it would have happened. It just so happened that that day was today.

I drifted back along the beach, watching my single line of footprints being washed away by the sea by time and distance until there was nothing but smooth sand and water. That is our lot in life, that is everyone's lot in life; the fallibility of existence and the human condition. The ability to make a lasting impression on someone's life. There comes a time in every person's existence, when there are no footprints left on our beach, when we are eternally alone. All the things and the people and the experiences that we held so dear that shape us into who we perceive ourselves to be are gone, and suddenly we're not there anymore. We're floating in the wind or the rain or the ocean, because without that, without that essential human trait of self concept, there is nothing left to live for or to be or exist.

_**It was 1 month, 21 days, 10 hours and 14 minutes until Stephanie disappeared.**_

_**And she was running.**_


	22. It's Better Than Somewhere

_Chapter 22_

_It's Better Than Somewhere_

_I keep my pledge_

_I was not called-_

_Death did not notice me._

_I bring my Rose._

_I plight again,_

_By every sainted Bee-_

_By Daisy called from Hillside-_

_By Bobolink from lane._

_Blossom and I-_

_Her oath and mine-_

_Will surely come again._

_-_Emily Dickinson

_10:19 am, May 9_

_Dalecross Private Hospital, Trenton._

I awoke late that morning; the pain medication they kept adding to my IV and the events of the previous night had left my body strangely exhausted and lethargic. Dull pain simmered over much of my body despite the painkillers; a faint burning sensation tingling the damaged skin up the left side of my neck, traversing down the back of my shoulder and arm and wrapping a little around the front of my torso, to the sharper pain of the incision site on my chest. It was nothing worse than I had endured before, though perhaps a little more pervasive.

Hazy memories and flashes of the night before wandered through my drowsy mind. The warm blue depths of her eyes so close to mine, the touch of her lips to my skin that felt like an electric shock, the way her hands held my face as she kissed me. It was all I could have ever wanted. More.

Her scent was filling my senses from where she lay next to me, making my heart beat faster and my fists clench with that feeling: that wonderful, terrifying feeling of those first moments of falling in love. I had loved her before now, sure: with everything I had, in every way I could, but it was nothing compared to how I felt now. I had not felt like she was mine, she had still somehow remained distant and out of reach while still so torturously close. What we'd shared last night... it was so intensely personal and _ours_, an experience that no one else could replicate or understand which made '_us'_ special. For the first time we had ignored the boundaries of the self and individuality until I could no longer remember where my self ended and hers began. To be with her was to breathe. To survive with a few heaving gasps until I could touch her again, desperately suffocating in a world devoid of her presence. To win a battle amid a war surely lost.

An overwhelming urge to feel her close to me inundated my mind and I stretched out my fingertips, those last moments of sweet sorrow before I felt her skin went on and on until I opened my eyes to see the empty space beside me where she should have been. Her t shirt was lying on the pillow next to me, the scent of her close as my face lay next to it, and I realised the rest of her clothes were gone. Her jeans that had been pushed to the end of the bed were missing, her boots that had been thrown haphazardly on the floor, her jacket where it had hung on the back of her chair, the bag that had lain next to the door and the keys inside it had all vanished. I gently pushed myself in bed, feeling my stiff muscles complain as I tried my best to remain upright for a while. She was really gone. All vestiges of her constant vigil had been removed, leaving only the shirt I had been lying on and the ghostly reminder of her touch, long absent from my skin.

My eye wandered blankly across the empty room around me, the sanitised, clinical walls and furniture that screamed institution, that made me feel for the first time that I was a patient, that I was ill. Anxiety built in my chest, bunching my muscles and clenching my fists as it coursed through my body until I felt I would explode. She had left. She was gone. She had run away from me...The room felt small and claustrophobic, the perpetually closed windows like bars containing me within my own prison of bodily weakness. My mind was screaming at me that I had to get up, to run, to find her; because without her I felt... nothing. I felt like a drowning man presented with a glass of water or a blind man given a picture of his wife; so, so alone and helpless and utterly incapable of finding my way out of the trees of this dense forest of identical trees. Sweat beaded on my skin as my exhausted body attempted to remain upright, muscles beginning to shake with effort until I collapsed back onto the pillows, drifting on the edge of consciousness before falling relieved off the edge into the void.

0 0 0

I awoke to Tank entering the room around midday, carrying some paperwork and a bag with food from Ella, who thought (rightly) that I would eat little of what the hospital provided. He paused momentarily at the door, looking over the empty room and particularly examining me, before moving to drop the paperwork on the table and toss me my sweatpants that had been lying close to the foot of the bed. I ignored his pointed look at the marks that riddled my neck and chest as I pulled the pants on under the sheet, daring him to comment with my determined silence.

"We're keeping an eye on her." His voice was quiet but knowing, and it took all my considerable self control not to show any sign that I had heard him speak. "She bolted around 5 this morning."

"Where—" I started to say, unable to control myself, but Tank interrupted me firmly.

"No. Whatever you did, she's obviously struggling to think things through [deal?]. You don't get to know where she is, you don't get to call her, you don't get anything. She owes you nothing, you _don't_ get to treat her that way." There was a menace in his voice that spoke only too clearly of the fierce love and loyalty the men had for her, and I knew instinctively that arguing the matter would make no difference.

"But," I scrubbed my face a moment, the fatigue of the meds and physical and emotional exertion still taking their toll on my body. "What—I didn't do anything, I mean—"

Tank looked pointedly at the marks Stephanie had made last night, and raised an eyebrow, expression stormy.

"God, it really is the blind leading the blind here. She's in love with you, it's right there in your face, man! She's been in love with you for years! Christ, you are such a dumb fuck sometimes. Everyone who has ever seen you two together knows it, you've just been staring in the other direction, hoping it isn't real because it would make things complicated. But Stephanie is a special woman Carlos, she doesn't deserve this shit. She has more heart and soul than the rest of us put together and you're treating her like a two-bit whore. You fucked her in a hospital bed for fuck's sake, what the hell is that? What is she supposed to think? This bullshit you're feeding her, the hints, the looks, the stolen moments of intimacy are just breadcrumbs you're dangling to keep her from giving up! It's sickening to watch the way she looks at you and the way you avoid her because you've got some pathetic hero complex, trying to be high and mighty because you think you are protecting her. You're killing her slowly, taking everything she has because _you_ can't let go of the idea, but you're not man enough to make the break! It is so cruel—."

Anger had been rising in my chest until it boiled over and I snapped forward to grab Tank's shirt at the neck and pull him close to my face, ignoring the searing pain of the tears I had just made in the wounds on my back, and the familiar 'pop' of a few stitches snapping on my chest. Warm blood started to ooze into the gauze packing but I disregarded it, concentrating on trying to curtail my rage.

"I love her more than anything in the world," I said through clenched teeth, punctuating my words with rough shakes.

Cold anger spread over his features as a moment passed, and his lip curled with disgust.

"Then why don't you fucking act like it."

0 0 0

The rest of the day was a silent, stony affair. I managed to take a shower for the first time since I had arrived, the warm water feeling heavenly over my tired limbs. I almost didn't recognise the gaunt face that looked back at me as I caught my reflection in the mirror. I had lost some muscle and my cheeks had hollowed, leaving me looking exhausted and thin in a way I had never seen. Every movement was slow and calculated, like the old man's shuffling gait, hands gripping the rails and bedside as I dragged my body around like a ball and chain. Everything hurt.

Most of the hours were spent waiting; lying ready and impatient to leave at the first opportunity on top of the covers, or having last minute consults with Doctor's irritatingly determined on hampering my escape. Every noise sent a surge of adrenaline into my blood, the slamming of doors, the sounds of relatives crying over a child lost, the constant phone calls of the nurse's station grating my nerves until I closed my eyes trying desperately to block it all out. The discharge papers finally arrived in the early evening, and the chair that was to bring me to the waiting Rangeman SUV. For once I didn't fight it, already exhausted by my efforts to ready myself to leave. As I was wheeled by a nurse through the labyrinthine corridors, I watched the people milling around doors and common areas, asking questions of Doctors and crying silently, all with the same mask of resigned suffering. Tired beyond belief and desperate for some respite from the pain, simply trying to put one foot in front of the other until they could do no more. An old man cried over his dying wife, to whom he'd been married for fifty years. Parents crying silently, cradling a baby with a cannula and feeding tube in his stomach. A woman crying over her husband, who would never walk again. So much death and destruction and pain in the world. A line from a book I had read long ago drifted across my mind. An old General's last words, desperately asking the universe that for years had proffered nothing but suffering, "Damn it, How will I ever get out of this labyrinth?"

The passages of the hospital stretched on, maze-like, inescapable until I felt the end would never come.

Suffering, I thought.

How will I ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?

_It was 1 month, 20 days, 23 hours and 26 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And Carlos was pensive._

0 0 0

Quote from the (awesome) _The General in his Labyrinth_, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Poem by the eternally amazing Emily Dickinson. Title Lyrics by OneRepublic. Thanks to my beta Svendances.

Sorry this chapter took so long while being so short... things have, as usual been extremely hectic. Getting back into the swing of this asap, I promise!

So, thoughts anyone? What do you think Carlos is going to do with Tank's rebuke? Where will S/C's relationship go now? How are they going to manage with Carlos recovering from serious surgery while trying to catch Harper?

Let me know what you think :) Hope you enjoyed the update,

Schaefy


	23. That's Where I've Been

_**Chapter 23**_

_**That's Where I've Been**_

_9:49 am, May 12._

_Rangeman._

The next few days were at best, tense and at worst, downright uncomfortable. Carlos kept mainly to his apartment under strict supervision on Ella's part, and I was loathe to break the brief silence between us in favour of that first awkward meeting. There was a heaviness in my stomach and a permanent lump sat in my throat as I worked late into the night tracking down leads, and I seemed constantly close to tears. The silence between us was unbearable, but still I could not figure out how to fix this: that bell couldn't be un-rung.

I was miserable and tired and burning myself out while the others went about their business without noticing any difference in my behaviour. I didn't blame them though. The day to day running of the company had been streamlined to be handled by a small team in order to free up the remainder of the men to look for Harper and continue the general investigation, and that meant _everyone_ was busy and sleep deprived. It just so happened that I had another reason for my exhaustion.

As I stepped out of the elevator onto the fifth floor to pick up my laptop and other necessities from my desk on the evening of the day I had run away from Carlos, I had noticed Tank picking up the phone as soon as he saw me and dialling the extension for Carlos' apartment. Obviously to tell him I was safely returned to the building. However much he might love me like a brother, Tank was always Carlos' right hand man before all else, and so it didn't surprise me that he was reporting back to Carlos. What did surprise me was a few days afterwards when Tank approached my desk to hand me a stack of files that Carlos needed upstairs so he could keep abreast of the investigation. In the intervening days I had spent most of the time avoiding everyone, especially Carlos, and I gulped hard as I looked at the files I had to hand to Carlos.

"Can't someone else..."

My words trailed off as Tank raised his eyebrows at my hesitation, daring me to say I didn't want to go upstairs. I had guessed a while ago that he knew what had happened, and also that if the stalemate continued long enough that he would intervene. This was it. I swallowed the rest of my sentence as Tank watched and got up from my desk, taking the files and running before his piercing eyes saw straight into my thoughts.

The doors closed on the elevator and I sighed, shutting my eyes for a moment and dreading the movement of the car upwards towards Carlos. There are plenty of things I don't understand in the world. Not just in the realm of people: their motivations and desires and the subsequent actions. Not just the world, the Universe. I can't understand a line of mathematical equations, or tell the difference between a quark or a nebula and quantum physics seems to have passed me by. But what puzzles me most is time, and our perception of it. How sometimes it feels like time goes so fast I can only really see it in the trail of dust behind me. And at others it creeps by so slowly that every moment is achingly, torturously slow until the drop of water falls, and the second has passed. It seemed like the drops were coming thick and fast as I felt myself moving upwards in the lift, seconds passing before I had begun to acknowledge their presence until I felt disjointed and out of sync with everyone else. It felt both an improbably long and a frighteningly short time until the doors opened and I stepped into the atrium before Carlos' door automatically, a vague but insistent unease filling me as the elevator doors shut quietly behind me and I listened to it move away to lower floors. It was much quieter up here, only the faint hum of a building that never quite slept reaching my ears until I noticed the sound of my own heart pounding in my head. Words can't describe how much I wanted to sprint through the fire door behind me to the stairs and put a couple of floors between Carlos and I, enough space for me to feel safe. But I wasn't really. Safe, that is. Well, at least not from him.

My eyes closed involuntarily as I stepped closer to the door and knocked lightly, waiting for the sound from inside that would mean I could no longer escape. A moment of silence. I knocked again louder.

"It's open." His voice was faint through the thick door, but still sent a cold shiver of uncertainty into my stomach. It swung easily as I pushed it open and stepped tentatively inside, feeling the familiar tingle up my spine as I walked slowly through to the living room.

Carlos was seated in a comfortable leather armchair that could fit under the one-sided desk that had been brought into the apartment for him. Every inch was covered in papers and files, with only enough space for a widescreen laptop to be placed in front of him and an empty coffee cup balanced atop an open folder. Within reach was his gun, phone, a couple of bottles of water and a protein bar, his meds, elastic band given him by his physiotherapist for strengthening and the remote to the sound system hooked up playing through a hard drive and TV that he had just paused. He didn't look up as I stepped into the room, continuing the soft tapping on the keys of the computer that sounded like percussion in the stillness.

"Tank, I need those Trenton PD files. Find out what the hold up is, and tell Masters we need to have another meeting soon." Carlos' attention was still on the screen as he spoke, and I felt my mouth go dry as I struggled to answer.

"I'll...I'll tell him."

The dark pools of his eyes snapped to mine, the flash of surprise evident only for a second as he stared. Silence filled the void between us while I struggled to think of something to say. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. His black gaze bored into me, taking in my expression with a blank animosity that made the lump in my throat redouble and my heart sink. Carlos looked away.

My eyes dropped closed as I tried to control the tears welling in my eyes, taking a few deep breaths. He was still looking at me when I opened them again.

"Is that all?" His voice was as cold as his glare, like ice sliding down my back. I shrunk away as the knife in my gut twisted at his dismissal. I didn't know what to say to him.

"I-what..." The words came out haltingly and I stammered, trying to think of something that would convey everything I wanted to say. I was sorry I had run away, I was just frightened of finding I was falling in love with a ghost, liable to disappear at any time. That I desperately wanted to express the connection I had felt to him, like nothing I'd ever felt before. I wanted him to understand what it was to feel what I felt when his eyes met mine, or I made him smile. How tender the touch of his lips to mine had been, and the way his rough and calloused palms felt as they moved along my soft skin. I wanted him to know the swell of pure nervous emotion in my chest when I saw him, the way I treasured his beautiful mind even more than his perfect body. I wanted to tell him I loved him. Without reserve or qualifier. That I would follow him to the ends of the earth and over again if he would only _love me back._

Now, I told myself, now is the time! Tell him, breathe in, and think and speak the words, out loud, now.

My breath was jagged in the silence and my heart was pounding loudly in my ears, but I didn't care.

"Carlos, I just...I just wanted to say that I-"

"I talked to Tank about what happened that night in the warehouse." He cut across my words with lethal precision, and I stopped, winded, as though he had struck me.

I couldn't help the tears that fell as I watched the man I loved looking at me with hate and disgust simmering in his cold expression as he looked back at me. There was no change in his expression as I swiped my hand across my eyes and tried to choke back the tears. Carlos just stared.

"What about it?" Cracked and weak, my voice not so much breaking as already broken.

"About how you managed to get to me so soon after the explosion."

Silence.

"That you had already left Rangeman."

Eyes closed again I turned my face away, unable to watch anymore of this nightmare unfold.

"You left the security of the building, where we _knew_ you'd be safe, with no regard for the consequences." My hands were clutching at my face. I thought the pain in my chest was going to kill me but the sobs still seized my body, convulsing and pathetic.

"You ignored what I had told you, what was logical and reasonable and in the best interests of the team. You risked the entire operation, the lives of the men. By your actions, people could have died."

"Carlos, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please—"

His gaze didn't waver, and I couldn't go on.

"We were trying to protect you, the teams going out that night were putting their own lives in jeopardy to get Harper and stop him from killing you."

"Please, Carlos, I'm sorry, I had to know you were safe-"

"So you decided to go out on your own? To give Harper a chance to rape and murder you as well? Men were hurt Stephanie, _any one of them could have died for you_. This is the thanks they get?"

Remorse pounded through my veins as I cried, realising how stupid and idiotic and selfish I had been. Carlos was right, I had jeopardised the entire operation, not to mention the lives of the men involved. I had appropriated resources that could have been better spent keeping them safe instead of attempting to secure me from danger. Desperation rose inside me like an insidious sickness, crippling me until I couldn't speak, and all I could think was how badly I wanted to explain myself, to tell him I was sorry.

"Carlos, please, I love you—"

A beat, as he gazed at me leaning against a chair, face streaked with tears and agony in my face.

Then he turned away. And I clutched my arms around myself, feeling the person I treasured most in the world slipping through my fingers like water.

_It was 1 month, 18 days, 6 hours and 1 minute until Stephanie disappeared._

_And she was hurting._

0 0 0

Title Lyrics by OneRepublic, "Mercy".

Hi everyone! Sorry for the long delay. You can tell my exams are coming up because I've started writing again. Anyway, I'm in desperate need of a beta: if anyone wants to volunteer or recommend someone who would be interested, I would really appreciate it! If it's any incentive, you'll get to see advanced copies of the chapters?!

Please let me know via PM if you're keen.

As always, please show the love and REVIEW. Means a lot

Thanks guys,

Schaefy


	24. And Nothing's Changed

**Chapter 24**

_**And Nothing's Changed**_

_4:48am, May 13. _

_Stephanie's Rangeman Apartment_

The alarm rang loud and harsh, jolting me awake so suddenly that I grabbed my gun, heart pumping, pointing it at the unknown assailant before I had time enough to gauge the situation. I breathed hard in the dark room, staring around until I realised it was nothing but the remnants of a bad dream. Falling back onto my pillows, I flicked the safety on the gun and shoved it down my headboard within easy reach, then let my eyes drift shut again. The pounding of my heart slowed gradually as the adrenaline left my bloodstream, the warm air of the open window cooling my sweaty face.

Pink sunlight glowed on the horizon as the stars faded into the dawn sky as I lied there, unwilling to let the day start. The curtains shifted as the breeze funnelled between buildings. Flashes of the dream I'd been having flew past my mind, vague but for the feeling of unease that lingered on. Carlos had been yelling at me as I tried to push through a heavy door, his face furious even as I searched for him. I was crying, flinging my shoulder against the door because I knew he was on the other side, desperate to get to him but too weak to break it down. Finally I'd slumped against it, exhausted and sick, his spiteful words filling my mind as I cried; hating myself, hating my weakness, hating the fact that I loved him. Desperate, ill and alone.

I tried to ignore the dream as I took a cold shower, shivering as the water sluiced away my sweat without taking the feelings of shame and self-disgust with it. After I showered, I pulled on a pair of light cargoes, a Rangeman shirt and my boots. Forgoing makeup, I pulled together the mess of papers spread across my bed to take upstairs.

Food held no appeal to me so I walked past the kitchen and headed for the lift. I hit my desk at half past five, arriving as the night shift began to pack up and the sun peeked its head above the clouds. Five was my favourite time of day to be in the office. The usual murmurs and noises on the floor were quiet and the cubicles surrounding me were empty and clean. It's not that I minded the guys, I loved them dearly, but of late I'd had very little desire to talk and even less to be talked to. Sitting at my desk, alone except for the men at the monitors, I felt the closest to peaceful that I could get while being confined to the building. My Rangeman apartment depressed me a little, devoid of any feeling of home. It just felt clinical and transient like a nameless, faceless hotel room that had seen so many more nameless, faceless people. Every day I missed my little beach house more. I could almost hear the crash of the waves on the shore and how the old floorboards creaked under my feet. I longed for the feeling of lying in my own bed, surrounded by the shelves of well-worn books with dog eared pages and pencil notes. Sometimes I would think about all the people that had lived in my little house before me and brought life to it. The children that would tear through its halls to reach the beach first, the parents that had built a life for themselves and their kids in an endless quest for happiness that never seemed to end, but was passed on to the next generation in the hope of eventual success. That spirit was part of what made it special, and having to give that up felt wrong. The thought that no one was there to appreciate it made me feel a little melancholic, nostalgic for the days when it was bursting with life, not sitting empty, waiting patiently for my return.

Pulling myself from my reverie, I reopened the search I had been working on the night before and started reading. I'd been reading through the recent newspaper articles to monitor coverage of the rapes and see if anything new cropped up. TPD had tried to keep everything under wraps as much as possible in order to keep mass hysteria from seizing the public, but info had been seeping out and the press was starting to cotton on that something big was going on. I scrolled through the front page article on Harper that had run in the Trenton Daily that morning the journalist tried to fill 12 inches of column with the scant information the Police provided to the public, and a blurred, non-specific picture of a male they used for unidentified suspects.

I was halfway through a cup of coffee when an article at the bottom of page 5 of the New Jersey Times caught my eye.

"_A total number of victims is yet to be released, but is believed to be between 8 and 10 over the course of the past 5 months. A source close to the investigation said that progress was 'slow, but steady' and that 'residents, particularly young women are encouraged to be vigilant and safety conscious at night'. A source believed to have been a witness to the latest attack has described a bald, latino male approximately 6" dressed in a dark jacket. Any suspicious persons matching this description should be reported to Trenton PD on this number…"_

My brow furrowed as I absently returned the cup to the table, thinking hard. We'd never released that information. We'd said nothing about the number of victims, the time frame, and _especially_ nothing about the photograph we had of Harper. That meant either there was a leak in Rangeman or the Police Department, or the journalist had gotten to this source on their own. The name on the by-line said _William Dalley_, and I scribbled it onto my notepad as the phone rang.

"I've got it," Silvio's voice was excited across the line.

"The cell?"

"Finally managed to track down the buyer. This guy isn't stupid. He picked the most popular prepaid phone supplier in the area and bought from the biggest store in Trenton. It took me days of surveillance footage to find him."

"But how did you make the ID?"

"I'll show you; I'm calling in Ranger and the rest of the team."

0 0 0

Five minutes later we were all in the conference room and grainy video footage filled the large projection screen at the head of the room. Silvio hit some keys and the people came to life, browsing and shopping like it was any other day.

"There." Silvio pointed to a man in a dark jacket that had entered the bottom left hand side of the screen, his head averted from the camera and holding a box containing a phone as he strode up to the counter. The cashier scanned and rang up the item, they exchanged cash and the man in the jacket shuffled away from the camera and out of sight.

"That's all the footage we have: he knows what he's doing. He chose the most direct route to and from the entrance that avoided all the security cameras and surveillance tech in the vicinity. Paid cash, so no credit card records. Completely invisible. The only reason I can be sure it's him is because of this." Some more taping and the tape rewound to when he was standing back turned to the camera. The image zoomed in to include only his head and torso, enlarged so it filled the screen. A couple more keystrokes and a series of filters began to modify and clarify the image. Contrast enhancers, noise cancellation effects, and shadow compensators. A moment of two passed and the computer stopped working, and a new image filtered across the screen.

"Look at his neck." The picture was far clearer now and showed a distinctly Hispanic and clearly the same man as the initial surveillance photo we'd managed to get. His jacket collar was down and the same tendril of a tattoo reached above his collar to settle under the neck. Little else was available from this angle, except to confirm what we already knew. Six foot, Latino male with a shaved head and neck tattoo.

"What did you find out from the store clerk?" Carlos' rumbling voice came from behind the others. I jumped a little, and Lester, next to me, looked at my face for a moment. I shrugged at him minutely, and turned my face, feeling my cheeks warming at my response. _Pull yourself together_, I whispered to myself.

"There were a total of two calls made: one to us and one that morning to a takeaway restaurant, an Eastern European place on Tenth Street. I used the TPD privileges we have to triangulate the place where the cell spent the most amount of time during the interval it was switched on. Comparison of that with the phone records and the positions of the cell when the calls were made gave me the approximate location that could be a base of some sort. He bought the phone the day before and stayed overnight before calling Rangeman the next day." A map flicked onto the street, marking three positions north of Trenton. The restaurant, the warehouse where Ranger found the girl and the bomb exploded, and an apartment building a few streets west of Stark.

"The apartment is borderline condemned and even the gangs have abandoned it. Harper was definitely there on the day of the explosion. That's the best lead we've got."

_It was 1 month, 17 days, 6 hours and 55 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And they finally had a lead._

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Hi all! So I know this took a little bit longer than expected, but then again it always does. I would like to say a huge thanks to my new beta yellowspotlight89 who has been so great starting out with me during a really busy time! Real life is, as usual, not conducive to much FF writing at the moment, but I'm doing ma best people! I'll try and keep it coming, promise

Please leave me a review and let me know what you think! Will Steph and Carlos be able to work together still, and remain friends? Will Carlos forgive her for putting everyone, herself included, in serious danger? Will Harper continue to elude their grasp?

Let me know! Thanks for being awesome guys xx

PS: Did I mention that reviewers get a sneak peek of the next chapter? No? Ok, well, yeah. Thought I'd throw you a bone :D


	25. A Tragedy for Sure

_**Chapter 25**_

_**A Tragedy For Sure**_

_10:06am, May 13._

_Outside Harper's Apartment._

Thirty minutes later Carlos and I were sitting half a block down from the apartment building Harper had been living in, engine off, watching for signs of life. The area was an old Eastern European ethnic community that had never been rich to begin with but was now completely urban wasteland. The streets were deserted, buildings visibly disintegrating and the City had stopped replacing the shot-out street lights before I was born. Grim, to say the least. Old gang signs faded on the cracked brick walls of a shop that had seen better days, and a rusted car missing everything including the steering wheel and waited for an owner that would never return.

Carlos and I had switched to a beaten up SUV to deflect attention of the gangbanger or homeless person that had strayed too far from civilisation. The car smelt of stale tobacco and engine oil, the interior cracked and stained with age. We watched the building in silence, tense and expectant, but it was more deafening than any conversation we could have had. The ocean between us seemed vast and impassable since our last discussion, and Carlos had made it clear he wanted to keep it that way. He sat ramrod straight in his seat, dark eyes fixed on the apartment block, the only movement from him the slight rise and fall of his chest. He refused to even look at me. I suppose I was lucky he hadn't taken one of the guys in lieu of me. That was hardly consoling though, as I struggled to keep my mind upon the task at hand.

My head rested upon my hand, propped against the car door, and the heaviness in my chest seemed to weigh me down in the perpetual sea of guilt and feelings of responsibility. I had seen Hal and Zip that morning in the Break Room on the way to their desks, where Bobby had finally allowed them to return to light work a few weeks previously. Zip's arm was strapped close to his body, the remainder of the bruising that had spread, insidious,__across his shoulder beginning to fade around the red, angry looking surgical incision where they had inserted a titanium rod and three pins to piece together his clavicle. He was upbeat and cheerful as we chatted about the Mets last game, though the purple shadows under his eyes and the tension in his jaw betrayed his constant pain. Hal's wet burn dressings had been exchanged for dry gauze the day before and he seemed delighted at the progression of his recovery. He showed me excitedly how the range of motion in his arms had improved as the skin of his back and chest knitted back together enough to withstand the movement. Ugly, puckered scars covered the area where the heat had burned his skin, but he didn't seem to mind. It was only my eyes that welled up when I saw the damage done and disfigurement to his body. I tried to joke along with them as they shared their plans about what they would do first as soon as they were well enough. It was only when I excused myself to use the bathroom that I allowed the tears to fall, clutched my arms around my chest as terrible, crippling guilt gathered up inside me. It was my fault. All of it.

I had been trying so hard to make up for putting everyone else in danger, but nothing seemed to help ease the pressure inside my chest. The guys didn't have a problem with me; they knew why I had left Rangeman and didn't blame me. Not one, except me...and Carlos. He had been frustrated with me before, and it had hurt me more than I cared to admit; but this was different. It wasn't animosity or rage. It was now just disdain, and perilously close to indifference. His eyes would move across where I was standing in a room as if I was part of the furniture, and he gave not so much as a nod to me when we passed each other, but he made sure I knew damn well how he felt. I didn't need expressions, or voice or words to tell me how he felt. I had known him so long I could read him like a book, feel the waves of anger roll off him when I entered a room. Someone once said to me that love was giving someone the power to destroy you, and trusting them enough not to. That people you're close to know exactly where it hurts most. In retrospect, I suppose that was what Carlos was doing, just trying to make me feel as awful as possible. Congratulations buddy, I wanted to say to him, you've succeeded beyond your wildest dreams.

I awoke from my reverie to Carlos' clipped tone in my ear.

"You armed?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice enough to speak, almost wishing I could snort derisively.

He opened the door and pushed himself out without another word, leaving me alone in the silence for a moment. Deep breath, I thought to myself, trying to stop tears that seemed constantly close to the surface these days. Just do your job.

We moved silently across the road and up the block towards the building, picking our way through the rusting piles of junk that had been abandoned and forgotten decades before. The double door entrance was hanging off its hinges; wire reinforced glass peeled away from the metal frame like someone had taken a can opener to it. Crossing the threshold, I felt Carlos pull his weapon from his belt and flick the safety off. My gun felt heavy and reassuring in my hand as I stared through the muted light that shone through the filthy windows nobody had ever bothered to clean. We were standing in a lobby, a doorman's creaky wooden desk in front of us and a door, slightly ajar, leading to the dingy stairs. Dust and grim were thick on every surface as we looked around, but I grabbed Carlos' arm and pointed at the floor. Judging by the footprints that marred the layer of filth on the floor, someone had been here recently: walked from the front door and down another corridor that lead to the ground floor apartments. I motioned Carlos to look and he nodded a little, his hand gently pushing me a little behind him as he crept forward, gun raised, breathing slow and steady.

The trail led to the last door in that hall, the shiny new locks at odds with the aged surroundings. Carlos glanced at me, nodding to them, and then pulled out his lock pick. Thirty seconds later there was an almost imperceptible click as Carlos disarmed the mechanism. My heart pounded in my chest but I tried to keep my breathing even and steady. Carlos paused, hand on the doorknob, and his eyes seemed to involuntarily make their way back to mine for a second. They were soft for a moment, reassuring. It'll be ok. Then he turned the knob and entered. A tiny two roomed apartment lay in front of us, and we split, Carlos moving into the main kitchen living room with his gun extended in front of him. I made my way softly into the bedroom, leading with my Smith & Wesson, checking behind the door, under the bed and in the bathroom.

"I've got nothing." I called, holstering my weapon.

"Babe, come and look at this."

I walked back into the main room to find Carlos with latex gloves shielding his hands, pulling a laptop from the couch seat.

"Someone left it plugged into the charger. It was sitting with the cable sticking out under the cushion." He pressed a button and the screen lit up, asking for a password. "This is your domain."

I had taken a semester of computer forensics while studying for my masters, and had hacked and searched dozens of computers on the job.

I tapped a few keys and pulled a flash drive from my pocket; plugging it into the side of the computer and hitting enter. I was running a basic password cracking program, and I watched it begin to run through the most likely permutations of words and numbers.

We continued to search the room as the program continued, throwing anything of interest onto the bed. A dirty shirt, balled up and stuffed behind a desk. Some crumpled receipts and a few business cards left in a drawer. I was turning the trash can upside down when the program beeped its completion. No hits.

"I have to take this back to the building, I've got better hacks there." I said absentmindedly, pawing through the bits of discarded rubbish. A chocolate bar wrapper, a rotting apple core, and a napkin, stamped with the logo and name of the restaurant Harper had called the night before. A smudged scribble in the upper left hand corner wrote ˜Preskov", 11 pm, the date and an address. Beside it was a delta, just like the one at the warehouse. I held up the napkin for Carlos to see.

"Looks like it wasn't a total bust. I think we've got a meet."

0 0 0

We packed up and left as the forensics crew from TPD showed up to start the evidence processing, and we handed over everything we'd found- aside from the laptop and napkin- to be fingerprinted and searched for DNA. I stared out the window thinking hard as Carlos drove back to Rangeman, trying to figure out how I was going to crack the password. The computer looked relatively new, and I would hazard a guess that it had been bought in the past few months which would mean the owner may have been sitting in that apartment when he created the password. So, something that was in view of the couch, or in the room? A list of things I wanted to try ran through in my head as we pulled into the Rangeman garage, and I was anxious to put them to action.

I reached my desk with the laptop running and Carlos standing silently behind me. Pushing a USB cord leading from my computer into the laptop's port, I hit enter to start the program. The screen went black and a window opened, listing a string of commands as the program bypassed the laptop security.

"Ok, looks like they didn't put their best man on this one." I said, scanning the output. "There's really only a basic security program on here, and the built in firewalls are easy enough to get around. The only issue is the password."

I felt rather then heard Carlos lean against the desk beside me, staring intently at the screen as I keyed into the password entry in System Command and read the text that appeared beneath my flashing cursor.

"Oh…" I said, scrolling down as I read.

"What?"

"It gets a little more complicated here. Most people set their passwords by their birthdays or name spelled backwards or something they can see at the time they think of it—that's normally the sort of thing I would try first. Of course that's no help in this case anyway because we don't know who owns the computer, his or her name or birthdate or whatever, nor where the password was made." I swung my chair around to face Carlos until my knees bumped into his in the small space between us.

"The problem here is that my program is telling me the password is composed of a set of 10 numbers and without some reference to a work or a code or something, there's little I can do but let the program try every permutation of single digit numbers until we get a hit."

"How fast can the program try all these numbers?"

"There are well over 3 and a half million permutations of numbers between 0 and 9. I have no idea how long this could take, I've never tried such a vague set of parameters."

"Try." Carlos said, his dark eyes holding mine. "Until we find something more, this is all we've got."

_It was 1 month, 17 days, 4 hours and 28 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And they were starting to get somewhere._

0 0 0

Sorry. But I did update! All finished for the summer so I have the next 3 months (hallelujah!) off, and I promise to try and keep writing as much as possible.

Title lyrics Mercy by OneRepublic. Thanks to my fantastic beta yellowspotlight89!

So, at last they have some serious leads! What do you think they'll find on the laptop if they even get into it? And who's this Preskov guy? Let me know what you think.

As always, thank you for reading, and please review!

Schaefy

PS: Sorry for those who missed this, but did I mention you get a preview of the next chapter if you review? Yeah, that's a thing now.


	26. I Can Sleep, No

_**Chapter 26**_

_**I Can't Sleep, No**_

_1:15pm, May 12._

_Rangeman _

Lester pulled a mugshot out of the copier, sticking it on the board next to the victim list and profiles.

"Alexei Preskov," he said, writing it the name in block letters across the top of the picture before turning to the men gathered around the Comm Room floor. "Russian national. Immigrated to the US two years ago. Highly active in the army during the Cold War but retired to St Petersburg after a mission gone wrong; supposedly some fault lay with the military because he lost the use of his leg and received a huge compensation payout."

"Reason for entry to the US?" Carlos' voice, quiet but distinctive.

"Retirement. He moved initially to Maine but relocated to Jersey six months later. State Police were informed because he has an Interpol file, which is where the picture is from."

"Arrest record?"

"Nothing in the US, and of course the Russians won't disclose anything. I wouldn't trust this guy as far as I could throw him: he has known ties to the Russian intelligence community that are still operating as if Stalin or Khrushchev were in power."

"But given what ended his career, he might not necessarily be feeling all that pro-government." I said, glancing at Lester.

"I'm not so sure. Russian patriotism runs deep and the propaganda the military and intelligence community is hard-line for a reason. These people are willing to die for their cause; not a lot can shake that sort of faith."

"Is there any other information on his movements or contacts?" Bobby asked.

"Not much. He's on a CIA watch list but the logistics of this sort of surveillance operation are just not possible, especially given the recent counterintelligence budget cuts. We've got access to their file, which just contains his basic movements across the US and a few known associates. Small time Russian mafia mostly; drug running, hookers, that sort of thing. Not high enough on the food chain to warrant further investigation."

"So we now have a connection between him and Harper, and a possible meet this evening." Tank rumbled from the back corner.

"Whether we detain them both or tail them: the next move is ours," continued Carlos, who was standing close beside me. "We have so little information at this time that I think there is really only one clear course of action: gather enough evidence to link Harper to the murders and bring him down. I believe if we apprehended now it would ruin any chance of discovering whatever organisation is behind this, and understanding how this fits into the big picture. Any arguments?"

A few shook their heads and the rest looked satisfied with his explanation, so Carlos nodded at Lester to continue.

"We have a little less than 10 hours until the meet and a lot to do in the interim. Hector and Sal, I want you to go to the location. Set up audio and visual surveillance, as well as drawing up a floor plan. Go undercover; we don't want to tip off any staff that are friendly to Preskov.

"Hal, see if you can bring up any other information on Preskov in the United States or overseas: particularly anything about his current interests and abilities. Contacts, weapons, assets, we need to know this guy inside out. Woody, look for any other links between him and Harper, particularly where they might have met. Harper's obviously not Russian so they had to have been introduced. It's a long shot, but see if you can find who brought them together."

The four of them left while the rest, including myself, turned back to Carlos.

"Everyone else, normal op preparation. Weapons checks, tac meetings, intel gathering. We're moving initial surveillance team at 9, main team arriving at 10."

Preparation for an operation of this sort was thorough at Rangeman, not that I could have expected any less from ex-army. They were well drilled in the protocols, and corners were never, ever cut. If spending hours preparing for an assignment was the price of a safer op, then that's what they did. Weapons were logged out by each field team member, checked and assigned along with ammunition according to placement within the operation, and sharp-shooting specialisation. Body armour was distributed, radios checked, fine-tuned and loaded into the kit room while the 'tac' or tactical meetings took place upstairs. Carlos, Tank, Lester and Bobby would figure out the goals and movements of each team within the op including every possible eventuality. In the last hours, assignments were given, information was collated and final full team meeting was held to go over everything one more time before the surveillance team was deployed. After that point Rangeman essentially went into semi-lockdown: all non-operational employees were relegated to other building levels to work, radio communication with teams was established and the floor became silent as we waited for it to begin.

There was an extra sense of urgency in the preparations for the night's events throughout the afternoon. The men double and triple checked everything and loaded weapons and radio gear into the trucks, ready for use. I passed Tank as he pored over plans of the bar where Harper was meeting Preskov with Bobby and Lester, marking on them where the men would be as undercover patrons, as well as the location of the teams that waited outside. I reached my desk and sat down to focus on the laptop. It was still running the password program as I watched it cycle through thousands of randomly ordered letters and numbers, desperate for one of them to work so that I could access the harddrive.

It was almost 2pm when I heard Carlos' office door open and felt him walk up, standing close behind me.

"Any luck?"

"Not yet," I sighed, looking back at the screen. "It could appear in a minute, an hour, a few days…there's really no way of knowing yet."

"Waiting is the toughest part." I turned to look at his expression.

"Can I have a word with you?" Carlos said, quietly.

"Of course." I replied, just as quiet. He moved away from my desk and I followed as he walked into his office, holding the door as I passed and shutting it behind me.

"I want you sitting in the hotseat tonight." Rangeman slang for being in charge of operating the base radio.

"Where's Zip?" I said, puzzled. Zip had been in the hotseat lately as he recovered from an injury.

"He's going to be back in the field tonight."

I nodded slowly, thinking it over. Carlos turned to sit down behind his desk, steepling his fingers and looking expectantly at me as if I were going to argue.

"I'm not going to fuck this up Carlos. I'll stay in the building. That's why you're asking me this isn't it?" He didn't deny it. The silence lengthened as he leaned back in his chair and looked away from me.

"Please don't shut me out Carlos…" My voice was smaller than before, wavering a little as I spoke. "Just talk to me."

"You do not leave the building under any circumstances. Nothing. If we get him, lose him, get hurt, whatever, I don't care: you don't leave until _I_ _say_ it's ok. I don't want some bullshit excuse when I find you there and someone was killed because of it. No exceptions. No excuses."

His voice was so cold and distant I felt like I didn't even know him, as if ice were sliding down my back.

"Of course, _of course._ I promise." I tried to swallow the lump that was rapidly forming in my throat, bite back the emotion that threatened to get the better of me. Desperately trying to find a way to make him see I meant it, I placed my hand on his and held it for a moment. His dark eyes slowly moved to meet mine, hard for a moment. I met his gaze unflinchingly, until his began to soften a little.

"I mean it, Carlos." He nodded a little, pulling his hand away and turning toward the window behind him. I got up and left the office swiftly, shutting the door behind me.

'Well, it could have gone a whole lot worse…' I thought to myself. I didn't know what Carlos was thinking about me, or what his intentions were except that he was uncomfortable expressing how much he did care. This was the closest he had come to saying that my safety and presence in his life mattered to him, even if he had come across as a little demanding. It was just his own way of telling me how he felt, and I was going to make sure that one way or another, I wouldn't let him down this time.

_It was 1 month, 18 days and 42 minutes until Stephanie disappeared._

_And they were about to meet Preskov._

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Hi everyone :) Sorry that took a bit longer than I expected: had to cater big Christmas party which has kept me ridiculously busy. So, what do you think? How is the operation going to go? Will they find Preskov? Will Steph manage being away from the action while Carlos is in the thick of it?

Let me know!

Spread the Christmas cheer by leaving a review: in return you'll receive a sneak peek of the next chapter.. how's that for incentive!

If I don't get another chance, merry Christmas to everyone, and a very happy New Year :)

Schaefy

Chapter titles "Goodbye Apathy" by OneRepublic.


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